


End of Watch 9/3/2073

by Luck_Kazajian



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Blood, Death, Detectives, Family, Freedom, God Complex, Inordinate Amounts of Blood, Memories, Mental Anguish, Missing Persons, Original Character Death(s), Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luck_Kazajian/pseuds/Luck_Kazajian
Summary: It's been three months since Detective Colt Rackham watched his wife and young daughter die at the hands of the Blue Snake Syndicate. He'll do anything to erase that night from his memory - including taking on an under-the-radar missing persons case. Lily Black, favored daughter, up-and-coming vet school student, has disappeared in the Mendel Crater Nature Reserve and Colt has made it his mission to find her. What he doesn't expect to find is a suspicious resort in the middle of the jungle, a psycho with a god-complex, and...his wife and daughter? Trapped between reality and memory, desire and death, it will take everything Colt has to make it out with his sanity intact.- Prequel to Shadowcrest Nightingale's Diving Deep Into the Night -
Comments: 54
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowcrestNightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Diving Deep Into the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427452) by [ShadowcrestNightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale). 



> I've been waiting for a while to post this, but now that it's been officially announced, I'm getting the first chapter up!  
> But first, a huge shoutout to Shadowcrest Nightingale, whose story Diving Deep Into the Night is what inspired this one. After I started reading Diving, I had some ideas for a story about a detective who investigated Somnus some years before the Bebop crew graced its doors and Shadowcrest graciously gave me permission to muck about with her story/characters. So, if you haven't read Diving Deep Into the Night, I highly suggest doing so (see above) ;) End of Watch is a direct prequel to the events of Diving Deep Into the Night.  
> Lyle, Morpheus, and Somnus belong to Shadowcrest, along with the way Morpheus' world works.  
> And while technically this is a Cowboy Bebop fanfic, we don't see any of the crew in this one (because they get to do this whole tango in Shadowcrest Nightingale's story).  
> So, without further ado...let's jam.

Colt Rackham walked into the Tharsis ISSP office three months after ‘the incident’ looking like Death chewed him up and spit him back out. They sent him straight to the Chief. Or, more accurately, he took himself straight to the Chief’s office and no one stopped him. Those midnight eyes bespoke murder for anyone who got in the way. His left hand was buried in his trench coat pocket and no one wanted to find out what he was holding -- Colt was a notorious quick-draw with either hand. 

So when he threw back the door to Chief Andel’s office, everyone froze. The Chief was sitting behind his desk, holding a report, mouth open in the middle of berating a couple of rookies for bungling their way through an important investigation. 

All three men stared at Colt standing tall and lean in the doorway. His suit was rumpled, as if he’d been sleeping in it, his hair shaggy and unkempt, curling under the edge of the fedora tipped over his eyes. If they could have seen his eyes, they would have seen dark pools underscored by dark shadows, in the pale, haggard face of a man who hadn’t slept well in months. His jaw was covered with stubble. 

The Chief found his voice first. “Rackham. Good to see you. Why don’t you -- uh.” He looked at the two rookies seated in front of his desk. “Hernandez, Lightfoot, give us some space. You’re dismissed. I expect you to be available for further debriefing this afternoon!” 

The two nodded and quickly left their seats. 

Colt moved just enough to let them out the door and they both glanced nervously at him as they exited. Colt shut the door behind them and fell into one of the chairs in front of the chief’s desk. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, limbs akimbo, hat still over his face, left hand still in his pocket. 

The chief glanced at Colt's right hand. It wasn’t shaking, although the fingers were stained with nicotine. The man had been smoking like a chimney, but didn’t appear drunk or under the influence right now. There’d be no way to know for certain though until he lifted his head and let Andel get a good look at his eyes. 

Andel cleared his throat and broke the silence. 

“Jack.” 

Colt finally lifted his head. His eyes were blue and clear, thank God, not red. They were half-lidded and shadowed so dark he nearly looked like he was sporting two black eyes. “Jack’s dead.” 

Andel cleared his throat. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that announcement. He knew that some people remade themselves after a tragedy, even going so far as to change their name, to lock up some part of themselves to stop the memories from overwhelming them. And, being an excellent undercover agent, Rackham had multiple personalities he could have drawn on to hide in. Andel took a deep breath and tried one of the nicknames Rackham had picked up around the office. “Colt.” 

Colt nodded. 

“What are you doing here, son?” 

“Reporting for duty.” 

“Like this?” 

Colt nodded again. 

“Colt, you...we thought you were dead, man.” 

Colt ducked his head. “Sure felt like it,” he murmured. 

Andel came around his desk and grasped Colt’s hand, pulling him up out of his chair. Colt stood, the motion automatic, a slightly confused expression on his face. Andel pulled him into a hug. He felt the younger man relax and sag into the embrace, as if he were weary and glad of someone to take the weight off his own feet. Andel thumped him on the back a few times. 

“It’s good to see you, boy.”

“Yeah.” Colt returned the hug, hesitant, skittish. “It’s good to see you too, Chief.” There was an odd note in his voice, like he was trying to hold his emotions at bay. Andel gave him a minute to collect himself, then released him and sat back down at his desk. 

Colt remained standing for a few moments, as if lost, until Andel gestured for him to sit back down. He did. He kept both hands out of his pockets this time.

“For real, what are you doing here?” 

Colt sighed and took his hat off, setting it on his knee. Without the shadow of the fedora, he looked a little less frightening, a little less disheveled. He swept a hand through his shaggy hair, brushing it back from his face. It fell raggedly to his collar, as if Colt cut it with his own knife, just enough to keep it out of his eyes. “I’m out of money, Chief.” 

Andel folded his hands and waited for Colt to elaborate. 

“I want you to put me back on the roster.” 

Andel looked down at his desk for a moment and then back up to see those blue eyes boring holes into his -- desperate, young, lost, hopeful. Damn it. He couldn’t stand when his boys looked at him like that. 

Andel sighed. “Colt, you know I’d pull strings for you. But Command took you off the duty roster weeks ago. You disappeared, missed work, didn’t return anyone’s call, and no one could find you. You were assumed dead. Officially, they’ve commended you and declared your end of watch.” 

Colt was silent for a long time, blinking at Andel like none of that made sense. “Well, then tell them I’m still alive,” he finally said. 

“I’d love nothing more than that, believe me. But even if I do, you know what happens when Command gets involved. There’ll be paperwork and they’ll probably take back your commendation and if they let you back on the force, you’ll have to go through initiation again.” 

Colt spat. “Screw initiation. I need something now, Chief.” 

Andel sighed. “I’d like to give it to you. But are you sure you want to go back on duty? After...what happened?” 

Colt flinched, eyes slipping away from Andel’s. After Sicily. After Ruby. Three months ago, Colt had burst into Andel’s office, urgent, desperate, and begged his chief for help. His wife and daughter were kidnapped by the Blue Snake Syndicate after a particularly successful sting Colt headed up. Andel could well remember it. The desperation in Colt’s voice as he broke down at his desk, crying and shaking.

_You’ve got to do something, Chief. Anything. They’re my family. They’ve got my girls. Do you understand? My girls!_

Andel had pulled all the stops. Every man and woman he could authorize, every resource, every hired gun, every vehicle and rescue squad. And it hadn’t been enough. Perhaps they’d moved too slow. Perhaps the bureaucracy had been too reluctant to help. Perhaps there never was a way for them to arrive in time. 

Ruby and Sicily were dead when they got to the Blue Snake negotiation coordinates. Colt broke. A man possessed, he’d razed the warehouse himself, gunning down any Blue Snake who got in his way. But it was all just a set-up. There were no higher ups present, only thugs and lowlifes. Andel could still see Colt walking out of the warehouse carrying Sicily in his arms. He hadn’t the strength to carry Ruby as well. He’d collapsed as soon as he walked outside. He barely pulled himself together enough to attend the funeral and then he disappeared. Complete radio silence for three months. And after three months of silence, well, Command gave up on him. Their best undercover man, their shining star, was just another name on a long list of names before him, those who died on duty. 

Colt licked dry lips and nodded. “I’m sure, Chief. I need this. I need something, anything, so I don’t lose it. I’ve tried...everything...and I can’t get it out of my head. It’s like I just--” He broke off suddenly and met Andel’s eyes, open, honest. “Please.” 

Andel sighed. He couldn’t stand watching his best beg like this. He could see the obvious toll that these last three months had taken on Colt and he wanted to help, but how could he explain handing off cases to a dead man? “Colt, I --” 

“If you can’t give me back my missing persons cases, then give me Lily Black, Chief,” Colt interrupted. 

Andel did a double-take. “What?” 

“I’m off the roster, so bring me on as an independent consultant. For the Black case.” 

“How...how do you even know about Black?” Andel sputtered. Lily Black had gone missing only two weeks ago, while Colt was still MIA.

Colt grinned at him then, and it was terrifying. “I may have gone off the radar for three months, Chief, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been listening. I know Command swept my cases under the rug and fabricated answers to shut people up. I know you haven't got a solid lead on Black, even after two weeks. I know you need a man in the field. I know that I’m here, right now, begging you for my sanity and this will help. So send me.” 

“I can’t send you out there!” 

“Why not?” 

Andel looked around, as if for unwanted ears, and then he leaned across his desk. “Because Command told me to drop your cases. Black too.” 

Colt raised his eyebrows, an expression of pure surprise. So, he didn’t know everything then.

“Then just tell ‘em I’m back and get me back on the case.”

“I don’t think you understand, Colt. They _ordered_ me to drop your cases, on no uncertain terms. They’ve been moved to an intergalactic level. I don’t have jurisdiction anymore.” 

“Local missions persons' cases have shot up to an intergalactic level? Since when?” 

“Since you ‘died,’ apparently.” Andel described air quotes with his fingers. 

“Bullshit. Someone doesn’t want us investigating. They’re hiding something.” 

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking, but my hands are tied, boy.” 

Colt got that glint in his eye that he did whenever he was in the middle of a case. “Mine aren’t.” 

“Oh, no.” Andel shook his head. “I am not authorizing you for a return to duty so you can paint a target on your back.” 

“Then it’s not a return to duty.” Colt’s eyes flashed. “I’ll be a ghost agent. I’ll investigate without reporting anything to Command.” 

Andel sighed. “You know I can’t pay you for that, Colt.” 

“You can pay me as a consultant, right?” 

Andel gave Colt a long, hard look. “You know how many “unspecified consultants” Command will let me hire?” 

“No idea.” Colt flashed a grin. 

“Zero.” 

“And you know what they’d say if I told them I’ve got Jack, er, Colt Rackham back in the office sound and ready for duty?” 

“You’re fired?” Colt guessed. 

“Pretty damn close. I can’t put you on any rosters like this.” 

“Ok, then don’t.” Colt shrugged. “Give me a week to fish around, I’ll come up with answers or I won’t, and then we’ll report my miraculous survival to Command and I’ll take up the argument with them in person.” 

“I thought you said you needed the money.” 

Colt looked away for a moment. “I do, but I need the work more than that. Chief, I can't keep hiding and running. I need something to do. I need something...to distract myself.” 

Andel looked uncertain. “I don’t know…” 

“C’mon Chief. I got nothing to lose. We both know you want answers. And we both know I can get 'em.” 

“Colt--” 

“Chief.” 

Andel clamped his mouth shut and took a deep breath through his nose. “How much do you know about the Lily Black case?” 

Colt sat up a little straighter with a predatory smile curling the corner of his mouth. With his disheveled appearance, he looked downright crazy. It was that edge that Andel valued so much in the young detective. That fine line right between determined and insane. If Andel were honest with himself, that same quality scared him sometimes. Colt was a live wire. Effective, but dangerous. 

“Lily is right up my alley. Mendel Crater Nature Reserve, right?” 

Andel nodded. 

“People have been going missing in that area for years, Chief. Just one or two at a time. Never enough to raise suspicions, but when you look at the string of missing people in total, there’s a pattern. I think at least five of my cold cases were linked to disappearances in that area, but there’s no obvious connection. Lily's another link in that chain. If I can find her, maybe I can find out more about what's going on out there. Also, her mom's been calling you, asking why her daughter still hasn't been found. I know now that you can’t tell her why. I know you want to give that woman some peace of mind. I know you want answers yourself. You need me, Chief.” 

Andel sighed. “I hate to say it, but you’re right. On all counts.” 

“That’s why I’m the best.” For a second, there was a flash of Colt’s old, cocky self under the shadows and the scruff. 

"And that's exactly why I don't want to lose you out there, boy. Are you sure you're ready for something like this? You likely aren't going to find Lily alive after this much time."

"I know. I've thought this through. Trust me. I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't think I desperately needed this. Needed some purpose. Needed you, sir." 

Andel inwardly groaned. When Colt called him 'sir' it was serious. How could he refuse? If this is what would put Colt's life back together…

Andel sighed. "Just be careful, Colt. There's something very strange about that crater and I think there are people who will do anything to hide it. This isn't going to be a walk in the park. Before taking this case, make sure you're really ready." 

Colt's blue eyes met his and held them. "I'm more ready than I've ever been, Chief." 

"In that case, here." Andel reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a manilla file with a few sheets of paper inside. He handed it to Colt. “That's everything I've got on Lily Black.” 

"I thought you said Command confiscated this file." Colt looked up with an expression of mock confusion as he took the file.

"They might have overlooked a copy."

"You sly old dog." Colt thumbed open the file. 

“Hmph. Look, I can’t give you any of your old equipment back --” Andel began. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Chief.” Colt pulled back the edge of his jacket enough to show Andel his shoulder holster and his regulation-issue pistol that went missing at the same time he did. 

Andel decided not to comment. “But take this.” He pulled his radio off his belt and handed it to Colt. 

“Chief, that’s --” 

“A radio. I’ll get a new one. Channel Nine. Call me if you need backup. I will drop everything to get to you, Colt.” 

Colt took a moment to answer, opening his mouth and closing it a few times, his face going through a range of expressions before he settled on grateful. “Thanks, Chief,” he finally said. His voice was oddly hoarse. 

“It’s the least I can do, son. Now go crack that case wide open. I want to stick it to Command when you get back.” 

“Ten-four, Chief.” Colt stood up and gave Andel a salute. 

Andel returned the salute, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching Colt walk out of his office for the last time. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was trying to be all disciplined and stuff and wait a week before posting the next chapter so I didn't post faster than I was writing (I've got a lot of this one written ahead though, so we're probably safe) but I couldn't help it. I really want to get this one out there. So here ya go ;)

_ August 31, 2073 - Landed in the Mendel Crater Nature Reserve. Nothing unusual at first glance. Will update later. See you on the other side, Chief. _

Colt turned the radio off and stashed it in his pocket, grinning. The message was useless, really, but Andel might get a kick out of it. Since he insisted Colt take the radio, he might as well use it for something amusing. Like updating the chief with his steps, no matter how irrelevant. 

Because really, what was he going to find out here that would be so dangerous that Andel would have to send backup? Colt was pretty sure Andel gave him the radio for emotional support more than anything else. He’d humor the old man.

Colt popped the top on his  _ Thunderbolt _ and hopped out of the ship, balancing on the wing for a moment to stretch. It had been a few hours' flight to get out to the Reserve. Not so far out of the way as to be completely uninhabited, but far enough to be considered remote. People often vacationed here to get away from city life. Colt was on the Southwest end of the crater, near a large lake, the last known location of Lily’s ship. But he didn’t see any ship. Or any Lily. He sat down cross-legged on the wing and pulled the Black file out of his cockpit, flipping it open for the fourth or fifth time.

There wasn’t much in the file -- a few photographs, a couple of reports, statements from Lily’s family. Colt studied the pictures again. Lily was a pretty girl, 18 years old, with dark hair and striking green eyes. She’d been about to head to college on a scholarship for veterinary studies. She made good grades. She had a lot of friends.

“So why run?” Colt asked the photos. 

They, of course, remained mystifyingly silent.

He’d searched the notes for any source of trauma, some event that might trigger a sudden fit of depression or anxiety, anything to give him a clue. But he found nothing that should cause a successful young girl to disappear. There was a little bit of family drama -- a divorce back when Lily was five -- but by all appearances, her parents remained amicable since then and Lily had a good relationship with both her mother and father. There were even recent pictures with all three of them together, smiling, happy. 

Lily’s trip to the Nature Reserve was supposed to be a last hurrah before classes started in a few weeks. It made sense. She was going to veterinary school, she loved animals, and the Reserve boasted some rare species and exotic plants. All in line so far.

Until Lily vanished. 

It was supposed to be a two-day trip, with Lily departing from her mother's house around 7:30 a.m. August 14th, and returning by 9pm on August 15th. But neither of her parents heard from her that night. They contacted ISSP early in the morning on August 16th.

And that was where the file got frustratingly vague. Despite written pleas from both of Lily’s parents to send search parties to the Reserve to look for their daughter, there were denials (written by the government, no less) that Lily was even still in the Reserve. There was a report for a cursory fly-over search, but nothing came of it and it was all signed in pretty flourishes by government officials. The official statement? Give it a few days. Your daughter will show up.

“Yeah, show up dead.” Colt scowled and shut the file. The whole investigation was a fiasco. He tossed the file back into the cockpit and closed up the  _ Thunderbolt _ . “Bureaucratic fools. Bet you never lost a child, did you? Hang in there, Lily. I’m coming for you."

Colt jumped off the wing of his ship. The day was gorgeous, blue sky reflected in the calm water of the lake. Far cry from the reason he was here. He’d never been to the Nature Reserve in person, although he’d explored it virtually while researching his cases. Right before Ruby and Sicily…

Right before he disappeared. 

He’d told Andel of his suspicions. Something was going on out here at the Reserve. And he’d asked for permission to investigate. But they hadn’t gotten through the red tape before the _ incident _ . 

Colt pulled a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lit it, taking a long draw. It was a relatively warm day in the crater, but Colt still wore his trench coat and fedora. They’d been a gift from Sicily, half-jokingly. 

_ “There.” She plopped the hat on his head with a laugh. “Now you look like a real detective.”  _

_ “A real detective? You’ve been watching too many TV broadcasts.” Jack smiled, turning a circle in the coat so she could admire it. _

_ Sicily just shrugged. “You’ll wear it for me, won’t you?”  _

And wear it he did. Even if the other detectives made fun of him for it.

Colt shook his head and the memory dispelled along with his cigarette smoke. He wouldn’t find anything standing on the dock reminiscing. If Lily never left the crater, then neither did her ship. And ships were traceable.

Colt pulled a small black box with a telescoping antenna out of his pocket and switched it on. Most ships were equipped with rescue signal technology and by the notes in the file, Lily’s ship was a newer model that had a couple of different rescue signals that could be activated. One of which would activate should the ship’s power source ever die. Being out here in the crater for two weeks would have kicked that one on. 

Hopefully. 

Colt watched the dials on the tracker, turning a slow circle where he stood. There! One of the dials jumped and the device emitted a low beep. It was picking up something to the Northwest. 

Colt started walking. 

After hours of hiking through miles of jungle-esque undergrowth, Colt broke through a particularly thick section of trees and stopped suddenly, on the edge of a steep ravine that opened into a natural valley between ridges. But what stopped him wasn’t the sudden drop. What stopped him was the sight that greeted him in the ravine. 

Ships. 

Lots of ships. 

From spacecraft to zipcraft, there was a whole slew of vehicles strewn across the valley. About twenty or so at first glance. All abandoned. Some recently, but others older and covered in plant growth, moss, and mildew until they were nearly unrecognizable hillocks in the landscape.

He switched the tracking device off and shoved it back in his pocket. That was one theory confirmed. There was more than one missing person here. 

He scrambled down the edge of the ravine, sliding a little at the bottom, and walked through the graveyard of ships. Every ship was empty. No bodies, no notes. A few of them had coats or other possessions on board, as if the owners planned to return. Many of them still had fuel in their tanks. Most of them were unlocked, but it didn’t look like they’d been rooted through, so whoever was responsible for this wasn’t a petty thief. 

Eventually, Colt found a ship matching the description of Lily’s single-passenger vehicle. It was parked on the edge of the valley, the newest addition to the collection, hidden under a dense copse of trees.

The sleek little vessel was painted silver, with a dog drawn along the fuselage. Colt jumped up on the ship’s wing and peered inside. As expected, no Lily. He tried the cockpit hatch and it popped open. There wasn't much of note inside. A few trinkets, a pink cardigan, a pair of shoes too nice for hiking, and a couple of discarded snack wrappers. Nothing out of place for a teenage girl. And nothing to tell him why she disappeared. No notes, no maps, no plans or schedules. Typical. Missing people rarely ever made it that easy. Because missing people usually didn’t intend to go missing. And those that did didn’t want to be found. 

Command officially dubbed this one a voluntary disappearance, claiming that the stress of starting college got to Lily and she disappeared for a joy ride, shirking her duties to family and education. But all the reports from Lily’s family disagreed with that assessment. They all cited her as being hard-working, industrious, and excited about school. So what changed her mind? 

What would make all of these people come to the crater and never leave? Were they killed by wild animals? That would explain why command wanted these cases swept under the rug. Had to preserve Mars’ family-friendly image, after all. But wild animals didn’t hide ships. So was the government out here hiding evidence? Or was there something more nefarious going on? A kidnapper or Syndicate plot, perhaps? 

Despite the warm air, Colt felt a chill go down his spine. He scowled and forced himself not to shiver. Colt glanced up at the sky. The ships were tucked away among the trees, but not so thoroughly as to be completely invisible. A flyover could have revealed the flash of a wing, or light reflecting off a windshield. 

Which meant that nobody actually did a flyover to look for Lily.

Or, if they did, they hid what they found. 

Or they were damned useless. 

So who didn’t want Lily to be found? And why? 

Lily obviously hadn’t parked here when she got to the Reserve, so it would do no good to try and find her trail from here. But maybe there was some other sign. From the person who hid the ships. 

Colt climbed up on top of Lily’s cockpit and pulled out his field binoculars. If there was someone in the crater kidnapping people, they had to have a base somewhere, some place they took everybody. Colt turned a slow circle, scanning the treeline for any sign of a structure. He almost missed it. As he turned, a flash of light caught his eye. He stopped and turned back. 

Just visible above the treeline was the top of a tower lined with windows, reflecting the sunlight. From what he could see, the building looked new and well kept, but it was impossible to tell what it was from here. Colt pocketed his binoculars, marked his position by the sun, and climbed out of the ravine. 

He needed to find out what was in that building.

* * *

_ There’s some sort of resort out here, Chief. Real fancy, but maybe it’s hiding traffickers. I’m going in.  _

Colt slid the radio back into his pocket and surveyed his find from the treeline. Late afternoon sunlight glinted off gilded golden letters on glass doors in a sprawling sandstone structure. The building was made of two sections, a shorter, two-story front portion that housed the entrance, and a taller, ten-story tower in the back. It was obviously some sort of hotel or resort. The building was modern in style, with a lot of metal and glass defining classic lines and organic shapes. All in all, it was completely out of place in the middle of the Reserve.

Was this where everyone disappeared? And if so, why? Why would they come to a resort and never leave? 

Colt walked up to the front door. Gilded gold letters spelled out a name. 

“Somnus.” He tasted the word. It didn’t sound sinister. The building looked open and inviting. It certainly wasn’t abandoned like the ships. And it definitely didn’t look dangerous. Besides, Colt was armed. With a reassuring roll of his shoulders to assure his pistol was within easy reach, he headed inside.

The glass doors opened into an attractive lobby, done in shades of cream and red, with inviting armchairs and loveseats spread around a fireplace with a softly glowing fire. Coffee tables with magazines and newspapers were strewn about the room. Colt glanced down at one. The date read  _ August 28, 2073.  _ Recent, so there was contact with the outside world here. Potted plants created a sense of balance around the room, leading one’s focus to the front desk, behind which sat a clerk in a smart green jacket, a pair of spectacles balanced on his nose. 

He looked up at the same moment Colt reached the desk. “Why, hello, sir, will you be checking in with us today?” 

“Uh, not sure. I’m looking for someone, actually.” 

“Aren’t we all?” the clerk flashed him a knowing smile. 

Colt tilted his head, feeling a bit off-kilter. There was something maddeningly familiar about the clerk, like a face from a crowd he couldn’t quite place. The answer danced on the tip of Colt’s tongue and then faded away, trickling off in the notes of the music playing in the lobby. Something pleasant and just bland enough to blend into the background unless one paid attention to it. 

Colt fished in his pocket and pulled out a photograph of Lily and her parents. He slid it across the front desk toward the clerk. “I’m looking for this girl, here.” He pointed at Lily. 

The clerk leaned forward with an expression of polite curiosity. 

“Name’s Lily Black. She would have come here about two weeks ago. Probably alone. 18 years old. Might’ve mentioned being an upcoming college student.” 

“And who, might I ask, is asking?” the clerk looked up at Colt, his gaze insistent and somewhat disconcerting. Colt blinked. 

“J--Colt. Colt Rackham,” he said, the feeling of being off-kilter increasing. “I’m a detective. Mars ISSP. Second division, precinct five.” He almost reached into his pocket to flash his badge before he remembered he didn’t have one. 

Not since he’d thrown it into the sea that night, out on the pier. The night he’d nearly thrown himself in after it. 

Colt swallowed hard. 

The clerk stared at the photograph, then back up at Colt. 

“Well, Mr. Rackham, you’re in luck. I believe that we had a guest fitting this young lady’s description check in recently. I could go try to find her, if you like.” 

Colt’s hackles went up, but he kept his expression smooth. This was entirely too easy. “Yes. Please. Her parents are worried about her. She hasn’t called in a few days. They just want to make sure she’s alright.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine, sir. We take very good care of our guests.” The clerk smiled again and gave Colt a slight bow. “Now, if you’d like to wait in the lobby, I’ll see if I can find Ms. Black. And please, avail yourself of the amenities while you’re here. Don’t be shy. Here at Somnus, we aim to please. I will return momentarily.” 

“Um, thanks, Mr…?” Colt paused, realizing he didn’t know the clerk’s name. 

The clerk smiled. “Lyle. The name’s Lyle. Just ring that bell on the counter if you need anything.” 

Colt nodded as Lyle disappeared through a nearby door. Colt stood at the counter a few minutes longer before he realized that Lyle had taken the photograph of Lily and her parents with him. That was a bit odd, but perhaps the better to find her? Colt wandered through the lobby, looking at the paintings on the walls. They all depicted scenes of the Reserve, bright flowers and expansive landscapes. There were several doors leading out of the lobby and a set of elevators on one wall. Plaques set into the wall listed the different attractions throughout the hotel. They had everything from a pool to a pool hall, arranged across ten floors.

The minutes ticked by and a few people trickled through the lobby as Colt waited. Mostly couples draped on each other’s arms, heading from one end of the hotel to the other. Most of them didn’t give Colt a second glance, but the ones who did gave him smiles and nods. Colt felt a pang in his chest as he watched a woman with wavy brown hair walk by on the arm of a tall, dark-headed gentleman. The woman reminded him of Sicily. What he wouldn’t give to have her at his side again, on his arm, her warmth curled up next to him on one of those loveseats by the fire while they talked and laughed and told stories. 

Colt found himself sinking into the loveseat almost without realizing he moved. Couldn’t hurt to be comfortable while he waited on Lyle, could it? 

He sat on the edge of the seat though, not wanting to get too settled. After all, this was an investigation and he needed to stay alert. If Lily really was here, she’d been here for two weeks without speaking to her parents. Something fishy was going on. Was someone forcing her to stay here? Was there something sinister under Somnus’ calm exterior?

Colt picked up a nearby newspaper and tried to read, but he found the words swimming off the page at him. 

He unconsciously sank farther into the cushions of the love seat, tipping his head back.

Music played in the background, lulling him into a deep sense of calm. 

The fire crackled merrily by his side. 

His newspaper dropped from his hand and fluttered to the floor.

He closed his eyes and imagined that he could feel Sicily curled up against him, her comforting warmth a real and solid presence by his side.

He wrapped his arm around her and breathed deep. 

Just for a moment…

_ Hold me, Jack. Let’s just stay right here. Isn’t this lovely, darling?  _


	3. Chapter Three

Colt woke up slowly, for the first time in a long time feeling like he’d actually rested. 

He yawned and shifted and felt someone beside him. 

He glanced over in surprise. 

Sicily was curled against his side, pointing out the pictures in a magazine to Ruby who was giggling in her lap. Colt blinked a few times, feeling like he was surfacing from some dream and there was something he should be doing, something he should remember but…

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Sicily looked up at him. “Decided to join the living, have you?” 

Colt looked down at her. “Sicily?”

“Yes?” she raised her eyebrows expectantly. 

“You’re...here.” He sat up straighter, drinking in his wife, her wavy brown hair tied up in a ponytail, her sparkling brown eyes and caramel skin. He looked down at Ruby, his giggling little girl with bright blue eyes. “You’re both...here.” 

Sicily looked confused. “Of course we’re here, silly. We’ve been here this whole time. You sure you’re awake, Jack?” 

Colt blinked and shook himself. “Yeah...yeah, sure. I’m awake. What…?” he swiped a hand over his face. “What are we doing here?” 

Sicily laughed. “I think you had one too many at the bar last night, sir.” 

“Last night? What’s today?” 

“September first.” Sicily tilted her head. 

“Isn’t it...wasn’t it...August?” 

“Yesterday,” Sicily said, looking a little worried. “You sure you’re ok, Jack?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I just...it seems like…” 

“Like you should still be at work and not spending the next three days celebrating your birthday with your family?” Sicily asked wryly. 

Colt relaxed as Sicily put her finger on it. “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess that’s it. Makes me feel guilty taking time off while the guys back at the precinct are still on duty.” 

“Jack, there’s nothing going on there that Andel can’t handle while you’re gone.” 

Colt smiled and leaned forward to kiss Sicily on the forehead. “You’re right, love. As always.” 

Sicily smirked. 

Ruby bounced up and down in Sicily’s lap. “Daddy! Daddy!” She reached for Colt, grabbing the edge of his t-shirt as he sat back up. 

Colt laughed and drew the toddler into his own lap. “Hey, darling.” He smiled and tapped the end of her nose with his finger. She giggled. “Pool?” she asked. It came out more like “poo.” 

Colt’s mouth twitched up in a grin. 

“She’s been asking to go swimming the whole time you were napping, but I told her she had to wait until you woke up. That is, if your muddled self is up to a swim.” 

“Hey! I’m awake, ok?” 

Sicily grinned. 

“Poo’! Poo’!” Ruby wriggled in Colt’s lap and clapped her hands. 

“You wanna swim?” he asked her. 

“Yes!” 

Colt grinned and hefted Ruby, tossing her up into the air as he stood. She laughed as he caught her and spun her around. “Sounds like a good idea to me! Besides, your mom always looks good in a swimsuit.” He winked at Ruby. 

“Jack.” Sicily put her hands on her hips. 

“What?” He followed her over to the elevator so they could head up to their room to change. “You do.” He kissed her on the cheek as the elevator doors opened with a ding.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Colt sat by the outdoor pool, a cold drink in his hand and Sicily beside him. Ruby was asleep, lying in Sicily’s lap, shaded by the tent of her pool towel. It was a lovely afternoon, the sky endless blue without a cloud in sight. 

“I’m going to end up with such a weird tan,” Sicily said. 

Colt looked down at her lap. “Want me to take her? Nobody at the office cares what my tan looks like.” 

Sicily laughed. “I hate to wake her. Besides, we should probably head to the room soon to get ready for dinner. I’ll let her nap a little longer.” 

Colt nodded and took a deep breath. Sometimes it still astounded him how he’d ended up a family man. It wasn’t necessarily something he’d planned on, but when he met Sicily at the Academy all those years ago...well, how could he say no? She was vibrant and alive and everything he’d never known he was missing in his life. And then they got married and a few months later, Sicily had proudly announced to him that he was going to be a father. It had absolutely floored him. 

_ But...Sis, we’re not ready for kids. _

_ “We’re not?”  _

_ “I mean, I’m not. I--”  _

_ She’d walked up to him then, sensuous, graceful. “Hush.” She laid a finger on his lips. “You’ll do fine, love. You’ll make an excellent father.”  _

_ “B-but--”  _

_ “Shhh.” She kissed him and whatever he’d been going to say next was forgotten.  _

“Jack? Jack. Hello?” 

Jack blinked. Sicily was waving a hand in front of his face. 

“Huh?” 

“I said, how about a sip of your drink before we go in?” 

“Oh, um, sure.” He passed the festive glass with its little umbrella over to Sicily and she took a sip. 

“Off in la-la land again, love?” She was eyeing Colt with that look that was halfway between ire and concern. 

“Yeah, I guess so. I just…” he paused. 

Sicily raised an eyebrow. 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times while he tried to find words. It was hard to explain. But it was like...like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be here. Like despite all of the beauty and perfection, there was something nagging at him. Something telling him that he should…what?

“I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something, you know?” 

Sicily looked at him for a moment, head tilted. “You’ve been at work too long, Jack.” 

“What?” 

“You’re probably just thinking of your cases back at the office. You haven’t had a real vacation in what, two years? Don’t worry about it. Andel will make sure that your stuff is handled until you get back.” Sicily reached down and lifted Ruby, gently handing her over to Colt. 

Colt took her in his arms. She squirmed and rested her head on Colt’s shoulder but didn’t wake up. 

Still…

“Does the name Lily mean anything to you?” Colt asked suddenly. 

Sicily paused, halfway out of her chair and gave Colt an odd look. Like he’d said something he shouldn’t have. But the expression was gone so quickly that Colt wasn’t even sure it had been there in the first place. 

“No,” Sicily said. She shook her head. “Why?” 

“I...I don’t know,” Colt answered. 

Sicily gave him an odd look, but then she smiled and stood, languidly stretching long limbs. Colt watched appreciatively. She winked at him and the strange moment was gone. 

“C’mon, love. If we hurry we can have a little fun before dinner.” 

“Sis.” Colt held up Ruby. 

“If we’re quiet, she’ll sleep right through it.” Sicily winked. 

Colt laughed and stood up, following his wife back to their room.

* * *

Colt sat on the edge of the bed that night and watched Sicily sleep. They’d finished the evening with an elegant dinner in the hotel dining room, Ruby slipping to sleep in Colt’s lap as he and Sicily enjoyed the live music. 

Sicily lay on her side now, half-curled under the sheets, her face peaceful, lips parted slightly as she breathed. She was beautiful. Colt leaned over and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, lightly brushing her cheek with his lips. 

She stirred but didn’t wake. 

Colt glanced down at his watch. 11pm. Despite his wife curled beside him, and Ruby sleeping gently in a crib at the foot of the bed, he couldn’t sleep. The name Lily kept floating around his head, haunting him. Who was Lily? And why did he remember that name? 

Sicily didn’t seem to know her, so she had to have something to do with work. He racked his brains, but he couldn’t remember anything else. The most logical explanation was that she was one of his missing persons cases...so then was he here to find her?

But if that was the case, why were Sicily and Ruby with him? A missing girl at a resort usually meant kidnappers or traffickers and certainly a Syndicate. That was no place for his wife and daughter! On the other hand though, they did provide excellent cover. A family man on vacation was hardly suspect.

Colt looked back at his sleeping wife. The only way to answer these questions would be to ask after Lily. He’d go in one of his aliases so that no one could tie him back to Ruby and Sicily. Maybe this whole thing was just a bad memory and they really were on vacation, but there was something about the whole scenario that didn’t sit right. 

Colt brushed it off and padded across the room to the closet. Since he was on vacation, he’d have to cobble together a disguise, but the sheer amount of clothing in the closet surprised him. For a few days’ vacation, it looked like they’d brought everything but the kitchen sink. How in the world had he managed to walk out the door with this much stuff without Sicily chewing him out?

Colt was even more surprised to find several of his stock disguises in the closet. He stared at the clothes for a full minute. Maybe Sicily was right. Maybe he  _ did  _ have too much to drink last night. Colt pinched himself and hissed when he very much felt it. By all appearances, he was awake. 

Shaking his head, Colt pulled out a black t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a scruffy brown leather jacket, then slipped into the bathroom and changed. It was a disguise he used often, for a man he’d dubbed Sam Smith. A simple man, with simple pleasures, and a name he could remember even while intoxicated or under duress. Colt often used the disguise to snoop without drawing attention to himself. Everything about Sam was bland and forgettable. He talked tough, but rarely followed through with what he said, and most people who encountered Sam never saw him again. Just a face in the crowd.

He’d need a few finishing touches so that no one would recognize his face. Surely if he had his outfits, he had his disguise kit too. Colt searched the bathroom, but his kit was missing. He found soap and shampoo, a hair dryer, cologne, perfume, and Sicily’s makeup, but none of his prosthetics, putty, or makeup. 

Colt groaned. He couldn’t wander around asking questions like this. He’d be recognized and Sicily and Ruby would be compromised. He supposed he could use Sicily’s makeup if he had to, but he was pretty sure she’d have nothing that matched his skin tone.

Colt closed his eyes.  _ Think, Colt, think.  _ He envisioned Sam in his mind, picturing what he’d need to transform himself. 

Sam was a slouchy fellow, with mussed hair and dead brown eyes. He had a nose that wasn’t quite straight and a scar over his left eye. His knuckles were swollen from one too many fistfights and his teeth were yellowed with tobacco. Colt could slouch, alter his gait, and perhaps find some kind of food to stain his teeth, but there was no changing his eyes or the shape of his face without his kit. 

Colt sighed and opened his eyes. His mouth dropped open in shock. Staring back at him from the bathroom mirror was the exact face he’d been picturing in his mind. Colt blinked. The image in the mirror did the same. His jaw was squarer now, his face thick and roguish. His nose was off-kilter, his eyes watery and hooded. There was a scar over his left eye and his hair was lighter and mussed. Colt reached up and felt his face. He could feel the scar under his fingers and the crooked nose. He stared down at his hands. They were bigger than normal, the fingers blunter, the skin rougher. 

What the hell was going on here? 

Colt whirled, as if he’d find a hidden camera projecting the image in the mirror, but a camera wouldn’t explain the changes he could physically  _ feel. _ In fact, he was shorter too, by a good three or four inches. He could tell by looking at the room. Objects that were usually at eye level were now slightly above. 

Colt staggered into the bedroom, careful to stay quiet. Sicily and Ruby still lay sleeping in their beds. The room was still quiet and dark, everything peaceful. Colt ran a hand through his hair and then stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. He jumped again, feeling something in his pockets. 

He pulled his hands out, holding a lighter in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. Things he always carried as props for Sam. He slid them back into his pockets and reached into the left-hand pocket of his jeans. He felt the slim shape of the folding knife he carried as Sam too. He ran back into the bathroom and stared at the mirror. Sam stared back. 

Colt took a deep breath. 

For all accounts and purposes, he  _ was _ Sam. 

How did he…? 

He must’ve put his disguise on and fallen asleep mid-process. That must be it. He’d put on the make-up and prosthetics, but not the clothes, and just didn’t remember making himself up. 

Yeah. 

That was it. 

It had to be. 

Colt took a deep breath. He knew he was lying to himself. Because that explanation left too many loopholes. But he didn’t have a better one.

He quelled the rising feeling of nausea in his stomach. He needed answers and he certainly wasn’t going to find them in the bathroom. He needed to ask questions, find out who Lily was and if she was here.

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

Maybe Sicily was right. Maybe he’d been working too hard and it was catching up to him. Colt slipped across the bedroom and out the door, easing it shut behind him. Maybe after this, they would all go take an actual vacation. 

No disguises. 

No personas. 

No hidden agendas. 

Yeah. That sounded like a good idea. 


	4. Chapter Four

At this hour, most of the resort was quiet. Only the pool hall, club, and bar were still in full swing. There were a few couples lounging in front of the fire in the lobby as Colt walked through. Lyle was behind the check-in desk again, reading a book and keeping an eye on things.

Colt headed for the pool hall, hoping to mingle with Somnus’ rougher crowd. Or as rough as you could get in this resort, anyway. Although, now that he thought about it, he’d seen people from all walks of life here. While hanging out at the pool and walking around with Sicily and Ruby earlier, he’d been surprised to find everyone from diamond-dripping socialites, to moody teens in ripped jeans, to men who looked like they’d been dealt the devil’s hand. 

Try as he might, though, Colt couldn’t remember checking into this place or planning this trip. So, then, how did he get here? Did Andel arrange it? It sounded like something the Chief would do, especially if he was the one who sent Colt here to find Lily. But Andel would never send Sicily and Ruby with him as cover. 

Colt shook his head and pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he pushed open the door to the pool hall. He was greeted by a wreath of smoke and the crack of billiards balls. The low hum of a TV broadcast provided background noise no one paid attention to. There were several men and a few women scattered around the room, leaning up against the bar or playing pool. 

Some of them were dressed nicely, in suits and ties, and one of the women was in a full evening gown, but most of the others were dressed more like Sam. Jeans, t-shirts, jackets and flannels -- the casual crowd. Perhaps even some of the hotel staff, mingling with the guests while off-duty. And the people most likely to know about a secret trafficking ring or Syndicate scheme under the veneer of a wildly popular resort. 

Colt sidled up to the bar and asked for a whiskey. The bartender handed him a glass in short order. Colt took a sip and surveyed the room. 

There was a table near the back wall that looked like it was cueing up for a new game, three men laughing and racking the balls. Colt walked up. 

“Hey, fellas, wanna make it an even four and play teams?” he asked. 

The three guys eyed each other for a moment, then one of them shrugged. “Sure, why not. We’re playin’ casual, anyway. What’s your name, slick?” 

“Sam.” Colt smiled and set his whiskey on the edge of the table. 

“Nice to meet ya.” The leader gave him a nod. “I’m Alphonse, this is Deck and Trace.” He pointed to his two companions in turn. They both gave him amicable nods. “You wanna be Deck’s partner?” 

“Sure.” Colt shrugged. 

Trace and Alphonse finished racking the balls and they got the game underway. Colt wasn’t a bad shot, but he wasn’t great either and he played just well enough to keep Deck from feeling slighted. It was obvious that Alphonse and Trace were the better players, but the three men didn’t seem to care, ribbing everybody equally. 

“So, Sam, what brings you out to Somnus?” Alphonse asked while they waited their turn. 

“Vacation,” Colt answered. Casual, noncommittal. 

There was a knowing nod from Alphonse. “Ah.” 

Colt wasn’t quite sure if there was something behind the response or not. “What about you?” 

“Oh, same. Me and my buddies came out here to relax, take the weight off for a while, ya know. That, and Trace here qualified for the pool competition.” 

Trace muttered something in the affirmative, but he didn’t take his eyes off the table as he lined up his shot. He played with an easy grace that concealed a larger prowess for the game and Colt had no doubt he’d be able to work magic on the table were he playing for real. 

They played a few more rounds. People came in and out of the pool hall and Colt kept an eye on all of them, but nobody stuck out as blatantly suspicious. During the second game, the three men warmed up to Colt enough to start including him in their jokes. 

While he leaned on his pool cue and watched Deck line up a shot, he asked, “Hey, any of you guys hear of a girl named Lily while you’ve been here?” 

Colt’s three companions all paused for a second, like they were in a hologram that suddenly glitched. Alphonse looked at him sharply across the table. “No. Why? Who’s Lily?” 

Colt smiled. “Just a girl I met last night at the bar, but I never got her last name and I can’t find her again.” 

There was an almost simultaneous, near-imperceptible release of breath from the three men. 

“I haven’t met any Lilys.” Alphonse shook his head. “Guys?” 

Trace took a draw on the cigarette between his fingers and looked thoughtful, but he languidly shook his head. 

“No,” Deck said shortly as he smacked the cue ball. He got a double shot, pocketing both the nine and thirteen. Colt congratulated him as Alphonse stepped up to the table. 

“You guys haven’t seen anything...unusual...while you’ve been here, have you?” Colt asked. 

“Unusual, how?” Trace asked behind a curtain of smoke. He’d been the quietest member of the group so far. 

“Oh, I don’t know, anything strange. Anything that might make you think this place isn’t...entirely on the level.” Colt raised his eyebrows suggestively. 

“What the hell you talking about, Sam?” Alphonse asked from where he bent over the table. 

Colt picked up his whiskey glass (refilled a few times during the night) and took a long sip. He shrugged. “I dunno, I just...I haven’t seen Lily all day and she promised to meet me here tonight. She hasn’t walked in yet and I thought…” 

Behind the smoke, Trace lost his curious expression and it melted into a smirk. “You worried about your girl, Sam?” 

Colt shrugged again and set his glass back on the table. 

“She probably jipped ya, buddy.” Trace leaned forward and snuffed his cigarette on an ashtray on the corner of the pool table. “Don’t worry about it. Find yourself a new girl, yeah? There’re plenty here.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Colt answered slowly. 

Alphonse snickered. “You’re smitten.” 

“N-no.” Colt stumbled over the denial, but it wasn’t intentional. At that moment, the pool hall doors swung open and a short fellow with black hair and muddy eyes walked in, flanked by two taller, thug-types. Colt’s eyes widened and he took a step back, so that Deck was between him and the newcomers.

Dammit!

The short guy was Mickey O’Roark, a low level Syndicate thug that Colt, or rather, Sam busted about a year ago. 

Trace watched him curiously, then he looked over his shoulder at the three men. “Gotta problem, Sammy?” he asked. Colt didn’t like the way Trace’s eyes narrowed.

“Let’s just say I’d rather not have a chat with the little guy.” Colt glanced around the hall. Besides a staff door on the other end, there was only one entrance and exit. The one O’Roark was standing in front of. If O’Roark saw him, he was sure to confront him. And Sam wasn’t a fighter. 

“Who, Mickey?” Trace jerked his thumb toward the gangster. 

Colt’s eyebrows flew up and he didn’t have to feign surprise. “You know him?” 

“Sure.” Trace shrugged. “He’s a regular down here. How do you know him?”

Colt paused. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer this one. Not with the truth, that was for sure. He opted for a noncommittal answer. “I, uh, may have scammed him once in the past.” 

Trace smirked. Alphonse snickered. 

“It’s not hard to do,” Deck muttered. 

O’Roark walked farther into the room, scanning the tables. Colt wished he had a hat, but all he had was a lousy pool cue. He tried to keep his face turned away as much as possible. 

“Alphonse!” O’Roark called out and headed for the table in the back. 

Crap. 

It’d be just his night to run into an old contact. In the Mendel Crater of all places. On a job where he couldn’t even properly remember what he was doing. Colt took a couple steps back, toward the employee exit, but he bumped into someone. 

“Where ya going, Sammy?” Trace asked softly. 

Colt froze. He glanced over his shoulder. Trace stood behind him, casual, pool cue held crosswise over his body -- almost like a weapon. In front of him, Alphonse and Deck moved a little closer. He felt suddenly and inexplicably out of his depth, like the only actor in the play who didn’t have a script.

“Hey, Mickey.” Alphonse waved as the gangster sauntered up with his two thugs. “We got an old pal of yours here for ya.” 

“Screw you,” Colt growled. 

O’Roark walked up to the pool table. “Yeah?” He gave Alphonse a handshake. Then he looked over at Colt. He raised an eyebrow in confusion for a second. “Do I know you?” he asked. 

Colt didn’t say anything. He could feel his heart beat faster in his chest as O’Roark’s expression slowly turned from one of confusion to one of anger. 

“I do know you!” he exclaimed, pointing. “You’re the guy that ratted us out two years ago! Sam something.” 

Colt held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, let’s not get hasty, mister,” he said. “I don’t know what --” 

“Shut up!” O’Roark shouted. 

Colt swallowed. He could feel the eyes of the other patrons in the pool room on him. His palms felt slick. 

O’Roark took a few steps closer and his thugs did the same. Alphonse, Deck and Trace moved in closer too. Colt shot a desperate glance around the room. There wasn’t going to be much chance for escape like this. Not without a fight. And if he fought, then he revealed himself as Colt. 

O’Roark cracked his knuckles. “You know what we do to rats, don’t you?” 

“I’m sure I can imagine,” Colt said. He glanced around the room again, calculating his odds. And then he made up his mind. “But I’d really rather not find out!” 

So much for staying Sam! He spun, intending to slug Alphonse on the jaw and make a dash for it, but the room suddenly flickered, as if it were a bad television broadcast. For a split second, he saw another scene superimposed on top of the pool hall. Busted concrete walls and an empty room with disused medical supplies stacked against the walls. 

Colt blinked and his fist pounded empty air, throwing him off balance. 

Somebody shouted and someone else grabbed the back of Colt’s jacket. He squirmed out of the jacket only to run straight into one of the thugs. The big man swung a fist at him and Colt ducked, lashing out with a stiff hand to catch the man in the throat. The thug went down with a gurgle. Colt vaulted the pool table. 

He dropped down on the other side and froze, momentarily distracted by his reflection in a mirrored panel on the wall. He...he was himself again. Colt. Blue eyes blinked back at him under black hair in a lean face, nothing like the rough man who had stared at him out of the bathroom mirror. Even his clothes were different. He was wearing his trench coat and fedora again and not the jeans and t-shirt he distinctly remembered putting on. 

Colt heard it before he saw it, a pool cue swinging through the air to his right. He tried to duck, but he wasn’t fast enough and the stick broke against his head in a blinding crack. Colt staggered back and hit the pool table just as one of the thug’s fists swung into his stomach, lifting him up and throwing him, winded, onto the table. 

The room flickered again. 

Grey concrete flashed through the paneled walls. The men standing around the table flickered and stretched like shadows. 

Colt groaned. 

The room spun. 

He closed his eyes. 

And it all went black. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The illusion begins to fade...

Colt woke up alone. He was lying on his back on a table in a dark room. He groaned and reached up to touch his head, feeling a knot and some dried blood where the pool cue hit him. But, he was still in one piece. 

He sat up slowly, the muscles in his stomach protesting. He rubbed at his eyes, massaging some of his headache away, then took a good look around. 

And promptly fell off the table in surprise. 

Colt landed in an ungainly tangle on a cold, concrete floor. He stared up in confusion at the empty room. 

He’d been knocked out in Somnus’ pool hall. He was certain of that. But he definitely didn’t wake up in it. He was sitting in a small room, dusty with age. Peeling paint and strange white fluffy stuff leaked from moisture riddled walls. He twisted around. What he’d fallen from wasn’t a pool table at all, but a dented steel exam table. Colt picked himself up, feeling his headache grow. 

Where was he? 

He staggered over to a cabinet on the wall and yanked it open. It was full of old medical supplies, moldy gauze, peeling bandages, bloated boxes of things like gloves and q-tips and antibiotic ointment. It was a hospital exam room. 

Why the hell would Somnus have a moldy hospital room in it? 

_ Think, Colt. You must be in the basement or something.  _

Colt put a hand to his head as a particularly fresh wave of dizziness gripped him. He steadied himself on the cabinet. Or maybe...he was suffering the effects of getting hit on the head. Maybe that’s what was making him see this. 

Colt wasn’t at all sure what was going on, but he was sure of one thing. He needed to find Sicily. Tell her what happened. Get help. 

He headed for the door leading out of the room and to his surprise, it wasn’t locked. He opened it and squinted in the bright light, blinking at a hallway back in the resort. He looked behind him. Exam room. He looked forward again. Resort. 

With a rising sense of dread, Colt stepped out into the hall. The door shut behind him, merging seamlessly with the wall. Colt stared for a second, then put a hand against the wall and pushed. There was no sign of the door he’d walked through. 

Colt stared at the hallway. Where...had he just been? 

Was he hallucinating? That wasn’t a good sign. Head injuries were serious and he was pretty sure hallucinating was on the list of dangerous symptoms. He set off at a brisk pace, watching for a sign to tell him where he was. Eventually he came to a junction with a metal plaque on the wall. He was on the third floor. Not in the basement at all. None of this made sense. 

But whatever was going on, he knew his room was on the fifth floor. So he needed to go up. 

He made it to the elevator and back to the room without incident. He stood outside for a moment, not sure what to tell Sicily or how to explain the goose egg on the side of his head. Then he took a deep breath and walked in. 

Sicily lay much the same way as he’d left her, sleeping on the bed, and Ruby was still snoozing in her crib. Colt eased the door shut behind him and walked over to the bed. Sicily had rolled over and now had her back to him. He reached down and gently shook her shoulder. 

“Sis. Darling. I need to tell you something.” 

“Hmm? Wha…?” Her words were sleepy and jumbled. “Colt, what are you talking about?” 

“I got hit on the head and I think I’m hallucinating, there was this room --” Colt suddenly froze. “Wait a minute. What did you just call me?” he asked. He felt his heart rate speed up. 

Sicily shifted under the blanket, but she didn’t answer immediately. “Jack. I called you Jack.” She sounded uncertain.

“No.” Colt backed up. “A second ago, you called me Colt.” Sicily never called him anything other than his real name.

The room flickered. Colt saw another exam room with another steel table in it before the image of the hotel room solidified again. 

“Sicily? 

“What is it?” 

“Sis...I--” Colt looked back down at his wife. She sat up and blinked up at him, green eyes nearly vibrant in the dark. 

Green!

Colt staggered back until he hit an armchair. It caught him at the back of the knees and he fell into it. 

“You’re not Sicily!” 

“What are you talking about, Jack?” Sicily looked worried, but her face didn’t look right. It was shifting, changing, flickering back and forth between two different images. Two different women. Sicily and...and some girl with green eyes. 

Colt felt his breath catch in his throat. The room dissolved again. He looked down at the crib where his daughter lay only to find that it wasn’t a crib at all, but a moldy pile of blankets in a dusty concrete room. The girl who lay on the pile was a child of maybe three or four that he’d never seen before. Colt looked down. He was sitting on a stack of musty boxes. And Sis--no, the woman -- was lying on another exam table, not a bed. 

Colt jumped up as the woman slipped off the table, her face changing so rapidly now that Colt wasn’t sure who he was looking at. 

“You’re not her. You’re not her,” he muttered as the woman walked toward him, arm outstretched. 

“Colt, I have to tell you something.” Her voice was strange, one he’d never heard before. 

“Don’t touch me!” Colt swiped a clumsy arm at the woman and backed toward the door. 

Everything was dusty again, like the room he woke up in. Everything was crumbling, falling apart. Was this a dream? Was it all in his head? 

“Colt, please, let me help you.” 

“No! Get away!” Colt lunged for the door. The woman followed, pausing in the doorway. 

Colt dashed out into the hall. 

“Colt!” she yelled after him. “Let me tell you the truth!” 

He ran.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how far he ran. Or where he was. By the time he got his wits back, he was lost. Colt leaned his back against the wall and slid to the floor. The resort was well and truly gone, be it illusion, hallucination or projection. He was in an abandoned medical facility of some sort. The hallways were long, windowless, and broken only by doors at regular intervals. There were markings on the walls denoting wards, rooms, and floors. 

Colt stared up at the ceiling as if maybe it could tell him where he was, but he only saw sagging ceiling tiles. 

He rubbed a hand over his face. Had he been drugged? How else could someone make him see something else so consistently? 

Was this a dream? 

Had he taken himself here? 

Had he drugged himself? He’d done some crazy things to try and forget Sicily and Ruby’s death -- he shuddered -- he remembered that they were dead now. He’d woken up in strange places before with no memory of how he got there, but nothing as far-fetched as this. Nothing so complete, so real, and so...weird. 

He sat back and tried to remember everything that lead up to this moment. 

If he could believe his memory, he’d gone back to Chief Andel, finally broken, and asked for work. Andel gave him a case. A missing persons case. For a girl named Lily Black. Who disappeared in the Mendel Crater, where a whole slew of missing persons cases seemed to point. He was in the Mendel Crater. He found Lily’s ship and that lead him to...whatever the hell this place was. 

Footsteps at the end of the hall made Colt stiffen. After he’d run away from the woman, he hadn’t seen anyone else in the building. But he knew he wasn’t alone. The woman and child were here somewhere. And someone had knocked him on the head. 

He reached under his coat for his pistol only to stop short. His holster was there, but it was empty. 

Where was his gun? 

The footsteps got closer. 

Colt levered himself to his feet. There was nowhere to hide in the hallway, not unless he put himself in one of the exam rooms and they were all dead ends. Better to face whoever this was in the open. 

A man rounded the corner. A man in glasses and a green coat. 

“Lyle!” 

“Ah, Mr. Rackham.” Lyle looked mildly surprised to see Colt. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

Colt stayed up against the wall. “You have?” 

“Of course. You disappeared rather suddenly and that is a little concerning for the staff here at Somnus. We like to make sure our guests are taken care of. Is the stay not to your liking?” 

Colt looked around at the dingy hallway and stared back at Lyle with his mouth open for a few seconds. The man couldn’t be serious, could he?

“Uh, no,” Colt finally said. “It’s very much not.” 

“That’s a shame.” Lyle walked closer. 

Colt backed away. 

“Where are you going, Mr. Rackham?” There was something almost sinister in the dim glint off Lyle’s glasses, the way he was so calm in the face of this madness. 

“I, uh.” Colt licked dry lips. “I’m leaving.” 

Lyle smiled. Colt backed away again, but this time Lyle didn’t follow. 

“We’d be very sad to see you go, sir.” 

“I’m sure. But I’ve got to check out now. Nothing personal,” Colt babbled as he backed down the hall. He kept Lyle in his sight until he turned the corner, then turned around to run -- and ran straight into Lyle. 

“Why, Mr. Rackham. Weren’t you leaving?” Lyle looked surprised as he straightened his jacket. 

Colt felt his legs go wobbly and reached out a hand to steady himself on the nearest wall. Flaky paint scattered under his fingers. “H-how did --?” Colt swallowed hard and whipped back around the corner. Lyle was standing at the end of the hall, still smiling. He turned back around. Lyle was also standing in front of him, looking slightly concerned. 

“You’ve hit your head pretty hard. Are you sure you want to be leaving now?” 

Colt sagged against the wall. “This is impossible.”

“It’s alright.” Lyle stepped closer. “A lot of our guests react this way at first. You’ll get used to it.” He reached out a hand for Colt's shoulder. 

“No!” Colt shoved his hand away. “I will not get used to...to whatever this is.” He steadied himself and stood up, staring down at Lyle, who was a few inches shorter. 

Lyle smiled up at him. “Oh?” 

“You’re going to tell me where the hell I am and what the hell’s going on here. Who are you? Who were those people back in my, er, the room? And where is Lily Black?” 

Lyle stood still in the onslaught of angry questions, sanguine smile still on his face. He slowly shook his head, clucking his tongue. “You should have stayed in the dream, Rackham.” Lyle took his glasses off, folding them fastidiously and putting them in his front pocket. His clothes shifted until he was wearing a robe with a heavy locket around his neck instead of his concierge’s outfit. 

“What is this place? What are you doing to me?” Colt hissed. 

“This is Somnus. And I will do whatever I please with you. Because Somnus is my world, my dream, my creation. You are simply a pawn in it, here for my pleasure and entertainment.” 

“The hell I am!” Now that he was getting more used to the idea that nothing was as it seemed, Colt felt anger heat his chest, pushing his fear to the side. “I will  _ not _ be your puppet! You will let me go. Right now!” Colt lunged at Lyle, but Lyle merely stepped out of the way, moving faster than a human should, so fast he blurred more than moved. Colt crashed into the opposite wall. 

“Very good.” Lyle smiled. “Try again. I dare you.” 

Colt put a hand to his head. If Lyle could manipulate reality, then Colt didn’t stand a chance. Unless. Unless he could do the same. Like back in the bathroom with Sam Smith. If he could turn himself into his aliases, perhaps he could get the drop on Lyle. He’d played the characters so often in his head that it made some sort of twisted sense for him to be able to shift into them here, in a world where the laws of reality were thin. And it would follow that when he broke character in the pool hall, he’d reverted back to himself because he hadn’t followed the rules of the reality he created. 

Is that what Lyle was doing? Creating a reality and forcing Colt into it? 

Colt concentrated, pulling up an image of Sam Smith in his mind. Sam had a knife. He’d materialized the weapon once before, so he could do it again. 

“What are you doing?” Lyle asked as Colt stood still. “I didn’t take you for the type to give up this quickly. Perhaps I was wrong.” 

“I’m not giving up,” Colt said softly. This time he felt his features physically shift and it wasn’t entirely pleasant. He felt himself shrink, his face and hands widen. 

Lyle’s eyes widened for a moment. “No, you can’t --” he said, before he snapped his mouth shut. 

Colt looked down at himself. Even his clothes were altered now, back to the brown jacket and jeans that Sam had been wearing. He looked up and grinned. “Oh, I can.” 

Lyle looked simultaneously angry and a little concerned. 

Colt reached into his pocket. He felt the smooth case of his folding knife under his fingers. 

In front of him Lyle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why me?” he asked the empty air. “Why do I always end up with the loonies?”

Colt gripped the knife. 

Lyle sighed and stared up at the ceiling. 

Colt pulled the blade and lunged. 

Lyle’s head snapped down, eyes boring directly into Colt’s. “You shouldn’t be able to do this here!” he shouted. He flung out a hand and the floor tilted sharply until Colt was struggling uphill toward him. 

Lyle looked down at the knife in Colt’s hand. He sighed and snapped his fingers and the floor tilted even more dramatically, until it wasn’t a floor anymore, but the wall of a long chute and Colt was tumbling, falling, bouncing off the walls. 

He slammed into the ground sometime later, flat on his back, all the breath driven out of him. 

Colt gasped, feeling a painful ache in his chest as he wheezed for breath. 

Everything hurt. 

His head felt like it was going to split in two. He wasn’t entirely sure his back wasn’t broken. Colt groaned and managed a tiny breath between gasps. 

Footsteps approached from behind his head and a long shadow fell over him. 

He tried to roll over, to grip the knife, but his numb fingers wouldn’t respond and all he managed to do was rock himself slightly. 

Lyle came into view, standing by his head. He bent down and retrieved the knife, folding it and putting it in his own pocket. 

“That’s not very nice, Rackham,” he hissed. 

Colt coughed. 

Lyle stepped to his side and put a foot on his chest, pressing what precious little air he’d managed to intake out of his lungs. Lyle pressed harder, leaning over and balancing his weight on Colt’s chest. 

“What a shame,” he tutted. “You’re playing with the big boys now. Your little knife isn’t going to help you here.” 

Colt tried to speak, but he couldn’t form words. 

“Tough to breathe, isn’t it?” 

“Sc-scre--” 

“Mmm-hmm, tell me about it.”

Colt coughed again. 

There was a loud crash in the distance. Lyle jerked upright, staring into the darkness surrounding them. The crash came again. Lyle’s face twisted in anger. He looked back down at Colt. “You’re lucky Rackham. It seems I have a...situation to deal with. I’ll be back for you later.” Lyle disappeared. 

Colt gasped in a welcome breath as the weight lifted off his chest. He rolled onto his side, coughing and gasping until he got his breath back. The blackness around the room retreated until everything was lit with a soft ambient glow and he found himself in an empty exam room once more. He still hurt, still felt like he’d slammed into the floor, but he could move. 

Colt slowly sat up, leaning against the wall behind him. He noticed that he looked like himself again, back in his trench coat with his empty shoulder holster. 

He let his head fall back against the wall.  His instincts screamed at him to run, but he didn’t have the strength right now. And besides, if Lyle could manipulate the world around him, then running wouldn’t do much good.  Colt sighed and closed his eyes. 

If he couldn’t run, maybe he could rest. 

And think. 

How the hell was he supposed to get himself out of this one? 


	6. Chapter Six

Despite his threat, Lyle didn’t show back up for the rest of the night. Or morning. Or whatever time it was down here. The lighting in the building didn’t change like sunlight and it came from no discernable source that Colt could see, but it was enough for him to make out his surroundings.

Colt’s watch said it was 10:00 a.m. on September 2, 2073. Assuming that was accurate amidst all this chaos. 

He stretched experimentally and was surprised to discover that he had full use of his limbs. He stood up. He didn’t seem to be suffering either the effects of being hit on the head or slamming into the ground last night. Were the pain and confusion only illusions of this alternate reality? Had he imagined everything that happened last night? He didn’t think so, since the memories were so vivid, but he wasn’t entirely sure. 

He stretched the last of the stiffness from his limbs and looked around. He was in another exam room, although this one was completely bare. There was no exam table, nothing in the cabinets. Just his hat, lying on the floor next to where he’d been sitting. He scooped it up and put it on. 

Cautiously, he crept over to the door and peered out into the hall. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. 

Slowly, he eased into the hallway, but nobody confronted him. 

Colt started walking. Might as well look around while he had the chance. He had no idea how long this reprieve would be. Or when he’d stop feeling in over his head. Perhaps Andel had been right. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come alone. He stuck his hands in his pockets, searching for the radio, but his pockets were empty. 

Colt felt a moment of panic as he frantically searched every pocket on his person, but nothing that he usually carried was on him. Not Andel’s radio, not his cigarettes or lighter, not his faded picture of Sicily and Ruby. 

Colt growled, the sound primal, coming from deep in his chest. 

He’d bet anything Lyle had that photo, along with the rest of his stuff. 

His photo. 

His girls. 

He was going to find Lyle and wring the bastard’s neck.

* * *

_ A cigarette would be nice right about now, _ Colt thought as he pushed open the umpteenth door in the umpteenth hallway. 

He expected it to be empty, just like every room before, but he stopped in the doorway, mouth open as he stared at the contents of the room. 

There was the steel exam table, like normal, the half-empty cabinets hanging drunkenly off the walls, the rotting boxes of gloves and q-tips on the counter. 

And skeletons. 

There were at least ten in the room, carelessly stacked against the walls, stretched on their sides, as if they’d fallen asleep and never woken up. Colt walked into the room and knelt by one of the skeletons. There were still scraps of clothing on the bones, but nothing that could be used to readily identify anyone without more equipment. Colt stood up. 

“Well, that proves my missing persons theory. But who…? Lyle?” Colt pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. 

There were more than ten people who’d gone missing in the Mendel crater within the last 25 years or so. A lot more than ten, if his research was correct. And none of these bodies were Lily, either. Which meant that somewhere in here, there were more bodies. Hopefully some still alive. He was on the right track. 

Now he just needed to find the others. 

It didn’t take him long. 

The next several rooms were filled with skeletons like the first one. Soon, Colt had a rough body-count surpassing fifty. Most of the skeletons lay on the floor, but some were half-hidden behind cabinets or tables, as if they were trying to hide from someone. Or something. In the more ward-like rooms, many of the skeletons lay on moldy beds with striped mattresses, arms over their heads or curled into the fetal position. In some of the rooms, he could even make out dusty footprints and drag marks where someone dumped the bodies.

But what Colt couldn’t find was a motive. 

If Lyle was the one luring everybody here, why would he kill them all? The best Colt could figure was that Lyle used hallucinogenic drugs of some sort, perhaps infusing them into the air to lure people in. That would certainly explain all of the weird shit he’d seen last night. And there was no mistaking the fact that Lyle had a superiority complex. But why lure people here to watch them die? If he wanted a world of his own wasn’t it counterproductive to kill everybody in it? Colt had yet to run into Lyle today, or see any sign of the resort, or any other people in the building. So perhaps the drugs had worn off. Now all he had to do was find the truth. 

Dead men couldn’t tell the truth. 

He needed to find some sort of clue. Or someone alive. 

He found her on the sixth floor, hallway F, room 605. She was sitting on the table in the middle of the room, surrounded by skeletons, crying softly. Her wavy black hair fell over her face and down her shoulders, obscuring her face. 

She stopped crying as soon as Colt opened the door, looking up with wide, guilty green eyes. 

“Colt!” she exclaimed. 

He stopped, hand on the doorknob, every muscle in his body frozen. His mouth opened and closed a few times, his brain stuttered. He swallowed. He finally managed a word. “You!” 

She cringed, as if he were about to hit her, even though he wasn’t within arms’ reach. 

“You’re the one from my -- the room last night!” Colt felt a million things run through his mind, emotions, thoughts, all clamoring to be forefront. Anger that this girl dare impersonate his Sicily, confusion, concern. 

“Who are you? What’s going on here?” Colt demanded. 

“I might ask the same of you,” the girl said. She tried to sound stern, but her voice wavered. 

“I’m looking for you,” Colt said. Then stopped. Where had that come from? The words had come out of his mouth almost automatically, tumbling out ahead of his brain. 

“For me?” the girl’s eyes went wide. 

Colt was struck with a sudden realization. “You’re Lily! Lily Black!” 

She froze like a deer in the headlights. Then her lips parted and she nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “H-how did y-you know?” 

Colt paused. If Lily was impersonating Sicily last night, was she in on this whole scheme with Lyle? Was she an accomplice? Or an unwilling victim? She certainly wasn’t gloating and parading like Lyle and she didn’t look happy about being here. But it could be a ruse. 

“Lily, your parents, they sent me to find you.” It was a stretch, but it was sort of true. 

Lily looked relieved, but then she stiffened, eyes narrowing, staring at Colt with suspicion. 

“How do I know that’s true? How do I know you’re not one of Morpheus’ servants here to collect his lost dog?” 

Colt was taken aback by the venom in her tone and it took him a second to answer. “Morpheus? Like the old Greek Earth god of dreams or whatever?”

Lily’s expression softened a little, but her tone was still guarded. “You might know him as Lyle." 

“Lyle! That lying, cheating son of a --” Colt cut himself off. “No. No, he did not send me here.”

Lily gave him a tiny smile. “You promise?” 

“Yes.” Colt nodded. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

Lily gave him the ghost of a smile. 

Colt walked into the room, carefully, slowly, as non-threateningly as possible, because Lily still looked like she might bolt if he was too sudden. “I’m a detective, Lily. From ISSP. I came here to find you.”

Lily hid her face. 

“What’s wrong?” Colt asked. “I’m here to take you home. Back to your parents. They’re really worried.” 

Lily burst into tears. 

“Hey, don’t cry!” Colt reached out for her, but then stopped, feeling suddenly awkward and useless. What was he supposed to say here? 

“I-I c-can’t go home!” Lily wailed. 

Colt looked around. “Why not?” 

Lily sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve. She slid off the table and reached out a hand to Colt. He looked at it for a moment and then put his hand in hers. 

“I’ll show you,” she said softly and pulled him out of the room.

* * *

“Look inside.” She pointed at the door. “But don’t go in.” 

Colt looked at the steel door and its stenciled number -- G723 -- with a rising sense of dread. Lily had taken him one floor up, pointing out the cave-ins and weak-points in the floor with a sense of practiced ease. How did she know so much about this building? She’d only been here for a few weeks. But the better question was, why was she  _ still _ here? 

Colt stepped up to the door. He looked back over his shoulder. 

Lily hugged herself with her arms, hanging back. “I should warn you, it’s not pretty,” she whispered. 

Colt swallowed. He’d seen a lot of not pretty in his lifetime. Drug addicts gone too far, murder victims, men killed in front of him, his own wife and daughter tortured and dead. Even so, he wasn’t sure all of that prepared him for whatever was behind this door. He took a deep breath. 

Lily motioned him to go on. 

He peered through the small window set into the top of the door. And immediately gagged. He turned back and stared at Lily. 

“H-how…?” He stammered. “You’re...here and...in there.” He leaned back against the door, feeling suddenly off-balance. 

Lily nodded. 

“You’re dead.” 

Lily nodded again. 

“Lily. I’m so sorry.” 

Colt blinked, trying to get the image on the other side of the door out of his head. The girl in the room had obviously been there for a few weeks and the body was...hardly recognizable. Save for the fact that it was dressed in the same clothing as Lily and had the same hair, Colt wasn’t sure he would’ve made the connection at first sight without having...Lily standing in front of him. 

“What are you?” he finally asked. 

Lily shrugged. “A spirit. I think.” 

“Does that mean I’m…?” he couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

Lily shook her head. “Not yet.” She held out her hand again. “Come with me.” 

He reached out and took her hand. His was shaking. She gripped it a little tighter and gave him a hesitant smile. He nodded and let her lead him to another room farther down the hall. This one had a large window set into the wall beside the door. It reminded Colt of the interrogation rooms back at the station. This room was built for observation. But the window was darkened with age and grime until it was nearly impossible to see through. 

“Take a look,” Lily prompted. 

Colt looked down at her. 

“This one isn’t as bad, I promise.” 

Colt took a deep breath and walked up to the window. He scrubbed his sleeve across it, dragging a semi-clean spot into the glass. Then he leaned forward and looked inside. 

He half-choked in surprise. “That’s me!” 

Lying on the exam table in the middle of the room was...himself. He lay on his back, one hand on his chest, the other hanging off the table. He still had all his clothes, although he couldn’t tell if he had his gun or other possessions. But what was most important was that he was still breathing. He could see his own chest rise and fall with the steady rhythm of sleep. 

“I’m alive!” 

“Yes. For now.” 

He jumped. He hadn’t realized Lily had walked up beside him. 

“For now? Wait. Is this what happened to you?” 

Lily nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks again. Then she turned suddenly and buried her face against Colt’s chest, shaking and crying. Caught off-guard, Colt staggered back a step. Then he put his arms around Lily’s shoulders and held her, letting her cry. 

He was really going to wring Lyle, or rather, Morpheus’ neck.

* * *

“So, my parents are still looking for me?” 

Colt nodded. He and Lily were sitting in the hallway, underneath the window to the room where his body was. Colt was nursing a set of bloodied knuckles and breathing hard. Despite Lily’s warnings otherwise, he tried to break into the room, but nothing worked. Unlike the other doors in the building so far, this one was locked and resisted all his attempts to ram it. He tried punching out the window, but it simply bent out of his way as if it were made of jello. All except for the last time he punched it. It shattered then, cutting the back of his hand to pieces only for him to find a second pane of unbroken glass behind it. 

Finally, he gave up and Lily convinced him to let her pull the shards of broken glass out of his right hand. 

Colt winced. “If this is all an illusion, how come it hurts so damn much? Ow!” 

“Sorry!” 

“Not your fault.” 

“I don’t really know how this world works,” Lily said. “But I do know that Morpheus is in control of it and he can make you see or feel whatever he wants. So if he wants you to feel pain, you do. If he wants you to see your greatest desire or worst fear, you do. If he wants you to simply stop existing, you do.” 

“So then how come you’re here now?” 

Lily gave him a smile then, a quick flash of the confidence she must’ve had in life. “Because much as he’d like you to believe otherwise, he hasn’t achieved true omnipresence. Not yet. That, and he has other victims in the building. He can’t play with everyone all at the same time, so some of us can escape his notice for a little while if we’re careful.” 

“And if you’re not?” 

Lily shuddered and shook her head, lips a tight line. 

“Oh. Ah!” Colt hissed as Lily pulled a particularly large shard of glass out of his hand. 

Lily bent over Colt’s hand, obscuring her face with the curtain of her hair. He was pretty sure it was so she didn’t have to look him in the eye. 

“A minute ago, you said we. There are others here like you?” he asked. 

“Yes. All those skeletons. They’re all here. All trapped in Morpheus’ world. And you will be too if you don’t figure out a way to wake up before your body dies.” 

“How do I do that?” 

Lily squeezed his hand a little too hard. Colt yelped. He felt a hot tear splash his palm.  _ You ass. If she knew that, she wouldn’t be here, now would she?  _

“Sorry,” he said out loud. 

Lily continued like he didn’t speak. “I don’t know how to wake yourself up. But I do know that if you die inside the dream, you’ll fall under Morpheus’ full control. He’ll be able to force you to fit his roles and make you look like anyone he wants. That’s why I...that’s why he could force me to play your wife.” 

Colt felt heat suddenly rise to his cheeks. “Oh God. Does that mean…? Did I...did we?” he stumbled over the words, remembering the afternoon after the pool. 

Lily shook her head. “Everything here is an illusion,” she said. “It’s not real, no matter what you felt.” 

Colt grimaced. 

“I-I’m not real,” Lily whispered. 

“Lily --” 

“No. Don’t say it. I’m dead, no matter what you think. I’m not coming back. I’m stuck here now. An illusion.” She shivered. 

Colt reached out and put his free hand on her shoulder. 

Lily stared down at his injured hand, running her fingers gently along the back of it, even though she’d pulled all the glass out a while ago. She cleared her throat a few times. “I think I got it all,” she finally said. She didn’t let go of his hand though, cradling it in her lap, despite the blood staining her hands and jeans.

“Thanks.”

Lily was silent for a minute. “Colt?” 

“Yes?” 

“Promise me something?” 

“O-of course.” 

“Promise me you won’t let Morpheus take you without a fight.” She looked up at him then, and met his gaze, those green eyes boring holes straight to his soul. 

“I don’t intend to let him get me easy.” 

“I didn’t either,” Lily said. “But he’s almost impossible to fight on his own turf. He can use your memories against you. Your fears, your dreams. Everything that’s in your head is his to play with.” 

Colt shuddered despite himself. 

“Whatever you do, don’t listen to him.” Lily was suddenly vehement. “Don’t listen, Colt.” 

Colt wasn’t quite sure what she meant but he nodded. “Ok, I won’t.” 

“And Colt? If you do get out, please tell my parents…” a sob escaped her before she got her composure back. “Tell them I’m ok. Tell them...tell them whatever you have to, but don’t tell them that I’m stuck here. I don’t want them to worry about me for the rest of their lives.” She ducked her head again, tears splashing into Colt’s palm. 

“Lily.” Colt reached out and tipped her chin up so that she was looking at him again. “Don’t cry. Please? I promise I’ll do whatever I can to get out of here. I’ll fight Morpheus. I’ll tell your parents...well, I’ll come up with something. I promise.” 

“Th-thank you,” Lily whispered. 

Slow, steady clapping filled the air. 

“Bravo, Lily. Bravo. What a show for our hero! You could have cried a little less, though, don’t you think? After all, it’s not so bad here!” 


	7. Chapter Seven

Morpheus materialized across the hall, clapping his hands theatrically and grinning, teeth flashing in the dim light. 

Colt jumped to his feet, pulling Lily up behind him. 

“Oho, the brave hero, protecting his fair maiden. How cliché,” Morpheus drawled. He glanced down at Colt’s bloody right hand. “I see you tried to wake yourself up.” 

“You should know,” Colt snarled. 

Morpheus curled the fingers of one hand and inspected his fingernails. “Well, I have to admit, I didn’t get to watch your entire little show. Had a few rogue souls to take care of. But what I did see would have drawn tears from a stone.” 

He looked up and his face was twisted with rage. “What do you think you're doing, Lily? Telling our guest my secrets. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” 

Colt felt Lily grab onto the back of his coat, her breath coming faster as she huddled closer to him. 

“Hiding won’t help you now, girl.” Morpheus raised his hand. 

“Lily, let go,” Colt whispered. 

Her grip loosened. 

He threw himself at Morpheus. But this time, he threw his hat first. As before, Morpheus blurred to dodge the incoming object and Colt whipped right, following the blur, fist aimed for the spot that cocky, pompous jaw would reappear. Except that Colt’s fist didn’t even reach Morpheus’ jaw before an invisible force slammed into his side and sent him careening into the wall. He crumpled to the ground, winded. 

“Colt!” Lily screamed. 

“As for you…” Morpheus walked toward her. 

“Stay away from me!” Lily tried to run, but froze, as if she were bound by invisible ropes. Her arms were pinned to her sides, her legs pressed together. She struggled. 

“I thought I told you to be a good girl.” 

Colt heaved himself upright. Morpheus wasn’t looking at him. He had the drop on him, if he could get his body to cooperate. He felt clumsy and slow, disoriented. 

“You know what happens to little girls who disobey, don’t you?” Morpheus purred. 

Lily screamed. 

Colt lunged, silent, deadly, arm outstretched, reaching for Morpheus’ neck. Morpheus spun and lashed out, moving so fast that Colt didn’t realize there was a knife in his throat until it was there. His knife. Sam’s knife. He coughed, the sound wet and gurgling in his throat. He tasted blood. 

“Colt!” Lily shrieked. 

Colt’s knees gave out and he sagged, held upright only by the iron grip Morpheus had on the front of his shirt. 

“You shouldn’t play with god, boy,” Morpheus snarled. “You’re outmatched.” 

Colt coughed again. The world went dark at the edges. 

Morpheus laughed. He dropped Colt. 

Colt hit the floor. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. 

Morpheus turned back to Lily. “And now, my girl, it’s time for you to go back where you belong.” 

Lily struggled even harder, crying and screaming, tears running down her face. “No! I will not--” 

Morpheus snapped his fingers and she disappeared mid-sentence. 

“Oh, but you will.” 

Morpheus faded slowly. His laughter disappeared even slower. 

Colt took his last breath on a hard, cold stone floor. 

Alone.

* * *

When he woke up, he couldn’t move.

He blinked. 

It was dark. He couldn’t see even with his eyes open. 

Something jostled him. He tried to steady himself, but his hands were bound behind him and his legs were tied at the ankle. He was lying in a cramped space, legs bent at the knee. When he tried to stretch out, he hit a wall on both sides. He was jostled again. 

His hearing slowly returned as the ringing in his ears receded. He could hear an engine and the sound of wind and a city. Car horns. People laughing and shouting. He was moving. 

No, check that. He was _inside_ something that was moving. 

He was in the trunk of a car. 

“Shit.” 

He was pretty sure he knew where this was headed and he tried to stop the sudden pounding of his heart in his ribcage, but it didn’t work. He felt the car go over a rough patch of road and he hit his head against the side of the trunk. He tried to curl into a smaller ball as the car left pavement and hit a gravel road. He was bounced all over the place. The driver wasn’t being careful. Probably on purpose. 

He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that his arms were tingling and he couldn’t feel his feet. 

“It’s just a dream, Colt. Just a dream. Wake up. Wake up.” 

He would’ve pinched himself, but that was hard to do when you were tied up. 

The last thing he remembered was getting stabbed by Morpheus as he disappeared with Lily. He’d...died. And yet, here he was, very much alive again. 

_ Everything that’s in your head is his to play with. _ This must be a dream, a memory Morpheus was forcing him to relive. 

“Morpheus!” Colt shouted. 

There was no answer. 

“You can’t scare me! I know what happens in this one!” 

The car sped up, slewing into a turn, tires skidding and gravel clunking against the underside of the car. They were almost there. Colt felt his mouth dry out as his breathing quickened. He felt the cold fear of that night like it was the first time again. His palms turned sweaty and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He felt nauseous and hot. 

The car stopped. 

He heard doors slam and feet crunch gravel. 

Somebody thumped the top of the trunk and laughed. “You comfy in there?” 

Colt didn’t answer. He couldn’t think of a single witty comeback. All he could think about was how his career was over before it had even started. Even if he made it out of this one alive, Andel was going to kill him for making such a blatant, rookie mistake. 

_ No, you do make it out of this one alive. And Andel doesn’t kill you, or even fire you. This isn’t real. It’s a memory. _

But that didn’t stop the fear. 

“So, you found our snitch?” Another voice, deeper. 

“Yeah, boss, and you won’t believe who it is.” 

“Bring him out.” 

There was the sound of a key in the lock and somebody popped the trunk. Faint light filtered in, but Colt still couldn’t see clearly. There was a sack over his head, making it impossible to determine where he was. Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him out of the trunk. Two men gripped his upper arms, keeping him standing. 

“Alright, unmask him,” the deep voice instructed. 

“You got it boss.” 

Somebody whipped the sack off Colt’s head. Colt blinked in the sudden glare of a pair of streetlights outside a garage on the edge of Tharsis. He certainly wasn’t in Kansas anymore. There were four men that he could see -- two holding him, the mob boss, and a third henchman -- all part of a gang that called themselves the Crimson Hand. 

“Sam Smith,” the boss drawled. 

For a moment, Colt registered shock, but then he remembered -- this was one of “Sam’s” memories. He’d infiltrated the group under his alias so that he could get intel, but he slipped up the night he meant to leave and got caught. Colt looked down at himself. He looked like Sam again too, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. He shifted, but he didn’t feel the weight of his knife in his pocket. They’d confiscated it that night, too. 

Colt cleared his throat, but no words came out. 

“Take him inside.” 

Colt was dragged into the dark garage. The hulking shapes of junked cars and unused merchandise loomed in the shadows. There were a few more gang members inside. All were armed. Colt tried to steady his breathing. In a few minutes, Andel would show up with backup and all of this would be over. He’d get rescued. He made it out of this one alive. 

“Line him up.” 

The two men holding him plopped him down into a single metal chair in the center of the garage. A rusty spotlight shone done on him. They didn’t bother to tie him to the chair, but with his hands and ankles bound, there was no way he’d be able to run before they shot him. 

Colt counted out the minutes in his head. The boss was about to start a cocky monologue and then Andel would come bursting through the doors. 

“Shoot him,” the boss said.

“What?” Colt was so surprised he barely realized that the word came out of his mouth out loud. This isn’t what happened! Colt felt his heart rise up into his throat. 

A laugh reverberated through the back of the garage. “Oh, did you think it would happen the same way, twice, detective?” Morpheus appeared sitting on top of a junked car behind the gangsters. He laughed again as the gangsters lined up. 

Colt jerked himself sideways, toppling the chair and spilling himself onto the ground as bullets ripped the air where his head had been a second ago. 

“Shoot him!” the boss shouted again. 

Colt rolled behind a nearby column, providing himself a little cover. He needed a way to untie himself. He looked around desperately. There was a junked car in front of him, with a broken window. A shard of glass was still stuck in the frame. Colt rolled toward the car and lay on his back, holding his legs up to the window. He caught the rope between his ankles on the piece of glass and gave it a few sharp yanks. The rope snapped. A bullet struck the floor by his shoulder and Colt jerked back as chips of concrete stung his face. 

He vaulted to his feet and ran, ducking behind the car as the gangsters spread out in the garage to pin him down. Now he just needed his hands free. A gangster appeared in front of him, leering over a gun. “Night night,” he said and pulled the trigger. 

Colt spun, holding his arms as far away from his body as he could. The bullet grazed his wrists and missed his back by inches, but it split the rope enough to weaken it. With a quick jerk, his hands were free. He followed up with a roundhouse kick, catching the gangster’s gun with his boot and flipping it out of his hands. The gangster yelped in surprise as Colt caught the gun in his own hands. 

“Night night yourself, bastard,” he said and shot the gangster between the eyes. The gangster toppled with a surprised expression on his face. 

Colt heard a footstep behind him and whirled, pulling the trigger instinctively. There was a yelp of surprise, the chatter of gunfire, and a second gangster went down, clutching his stomach. His gun skittered across the pavement, out of reach. Another shot whizzed by overhead, taking Colt’s hat with it. 

Colt ducked, watching the hat skitter away. He’d hardly realized it, but he was back in his trenchcoat again, the veneer of Sam washed away. Probably because he wasn’t staying in character again. 

He could hear the boss yelling at his three remaining henchmen to spread out and take him down. And another voice. Morpheus, somewhere in the background, egging them on. Colt growled. It seemed that Morpheus was in control here, pulling the strings of the other players in the world. 

The same way he’d made Lily -- oh, god, Lily! -- disappear like a bad memory. 

Could he do that to Colt too? 

No, if he could, he would’ve done it already. He probably had to be dead first. 

A bullet whizzed by his face and Colt jerked back, but the shot was wide and missed. He dropped to the floor behind a nearby car. If this scene were any indication, Morpheus wanted him that way, and soon. There was only one way to end this. 

Kill Morpheus instead. 

Colt set his mouth in a determined line and stepped out from behind the car. 

A bullet grazed his shoulder. He turned and shot and was rewarded with a stunned shout from behind a nearby car. The gangster in question fell to the floor in a pool of blood. 

“Come and fight me yourself, Morpheus!” Colt shouted. He ducked behind a column as another bullet whizzed by. Chips of concrete flew off the column. 

Morpheus laughed. “Why would I do that, when I have so many others to fight for me?” 

“You know what I think?” 

Colt caught movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively shot at it. Another gangster fell, clutching his upper arm. Colt shot his gun so that it skittered out of reach. That was four down. Only the boss and one other fellow left, if Colt’s calculations were correct. And Morpheus. 

“I think you’re scared!” Colt shouted. 

The whole room froze for a moment. Morpheus’ laughter stopped. The sound of stealthy footsteps to Colt’s left died. Like a movie someone paused. 

“You think I am afraid of you?” Morpheus asked slowly. 

“Yeah. I think you are. Why else would you keep trying to kill me every time we meet?” 

The room flickered briefly and Colt staggered, putting one hand against the column to steady himself.  _ What the hell was that? Another illusion?  _

Colt carefully leaned out from the column, just enough to try and find Morpheus, but the car he’d been sitting on was empty. 

The room flashed again, concrete walls beginning to show through the corrugated metal of the garage. Colt kept his balance this time.

“Coward!” he shouted. He gripped his stolen gun tighter in his hands, finger on the trigger. 

“You think I’m a coward, do you?” The voice was very close. 

Colt whirled and shot, once, twice, three times, without even thinking about it. 

But the body standing behind him wasn’t Morpheus. It was his chief. 

“A-Andel!” Colt gasped. 

Andel looked at Colt in surprise, hands going to his chest, where a span of three bullets ripped a hole through his heart. Then he flickered, jerking like a bad picture, and he wasn’t Andel anymore, but Morpheus, looking both angry and surprised as he collapsed to his knees. 

“Bastard!” Colt lunged. 

The room melted.

* * *

Colt fell off of something hard and hit the ground. 

He groaned. He was getting tired of falling. 

Colt slowly picked himself up. He wasn’t in the warehouse anymore and Morpheus was nowhere to be seen. In fact, nothing was to be seen. It was pitch black in here, wherever here was. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust, but all he could make out was the vague outline of his fingers in front of his face. He put out a hand and found something solid in front of him. He felt down its length. 

It was the exam table! He was...he was...

Colt patted himself down. He felt solid, real. He pinched himself. Nothing happened. He blinked and ran his hands through his hair. He was...himself. He was alive. He was awake. In his body, in the room Lily showed him. 

Damn, he was thirsty. And tired. He fumbled at his wrist for his watch and hit the backlight on the tiny screen. It glowed green. 3pm, September 2nd. If his calculations were correct, he’d been inside Somnus for roughly 48 hours. Without any sort of sustenance. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get back to his ship and back to Tharsis and report to Andel. 

But first, he had to get out of this room. 

The brief flash of his watch light had been enough to reflect off of the observation window along one wall. If this really was the room Lily showed him earlier, then the door was right beside it. Colt waited, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness again. There! The faintest strip of light near the floor, seeping in under the door.

Colt stood up and nearly collapsed, steadying himself on the table. His legs wobbled and his head swam, but it faded after a few minutes. When he felt steady, he stumbled over to the door and tried the knob. It nearly fell off in his hand. The door swung open. Colt felt his heart-rate speed up. He really was out of the dream world. 

A chink of broken concrete in the wall across the hall provided enough light for him to see a foot or two from the door. He walked out into the hallway. The facility, apparently, wasn’t a lie. It looked just as it did in the dream world -- dilapidated and crumbling. 

And dark. 

Other than the faint pool of light he stood in, there didn’t seem to be any other source of illumination in the building. Colt shuddered. Well, there was nothing for it. He had to get out somehow. He picked a direction and started walking. 

He didn’t get very far before the light faded and it was too dark to see his hand in front of his face again. Colt stopped, right hand against the wall so that he had some sense of spatial placement. If he didn’t find a light source, he’d never be able to make his way out of here. But just like he’d found in the dream world, his pockets in reality were empty. Morpheus had been thorough. 

Except…

...except he hadn’t taken Colt’s watch. 

Colt pressed the button on the side of his watch and the screen lit up green again. It was a dismal attempt at dispelling the gloom, but it offered him enough light that he could at least see his feet. The light flickered off after only a few seconds. Colt sighed. 

Well, it was better than nothing. 

Pressing the button on his watch every few seconds, he slowly worked his way down the hall. 

A few minutes later he stopped and sighed. This was getting him nowhere fast. The dim green glow of his watch only allowed him to take a few steps at a time. And besides being dark, the hallway was strewn with debris, making it difficult to walk without falling. Colt put a hand to his head and stepped back, onto something that rolled under his foot. 

With a shout of surprise, he went down hard, managing to catch himself clumsily on his hands. Something cracked and scattered underneath him and Colt twisted away in disgust. Hitting his watch light again, Colt realized that what he’d tripped over was a skeleton. A man, lying full length in the hallway -- or, at least, he had been before Colt so ignominiously scattered him across the floor. He was wearing an outfit that might have once been a uniform, now only tattered bits of pale blue cloth and dark trousers, perhaps someone like himself sent to investigate this whole affair. But what drew Colt’s eye was a flash of metal gripped in the skelton’s hand -- a lighter. 

“Trying to get out?” Colt asked softly. “Or looking for someone else? Sorry, buddy, but I’m going to need this a lot more than you now.” Colt pried the lighter out of the bony fingers and flicked it, breathing a sigh of relief when it caught flame. The little flame guttered for a second, but then steadied and burned. It wasn’t much, but it was much better than his watch. 

Colt picked himself up and brushed himself off, looking around. 

With a sinking feeling, he realized exactly where he was standing. The room where Lily showed him her body earlier. He didn’t recall the skeleton in the floor, but that door -- G723.

Colt swallowed hard and walked up to the door. He didn’t want to, but he needed to look. He held the lighter over his head, hand shaking slightly, and peered inside the tiny window at the top of the door. The lighter’s trembling flame was just enough to illuminate a strip of floor -- and a cold, dead hand tumbled with dark hair. Colt closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the door. So that wasn’t a dream. 

He was too late. 

Tears pricked his eyes and he swiped a hand across his face. There’d be no justice for Lily now, save in recovering her body and taking out Morpheus. Colt lifted his head and opened his eyes. To do that, he had to get out of here. And to get out, he had to go down. He needed to find a staircase. 

After a few minutes of searching, he determined that the unstable parts of the building that Lily warned him about were also very real and there were one or two places where the floor dipped dangerously under his weight and he had to backtrack and find a safer route. Finally, he found a staircase that wasn’t crumbling. 

He was about to head down, when a room beside the stairs drew his eye. The door was open, hanging drunkenly off its hinges, revealing a room full of cubbies with a counter in the center. It looked like an old storage or records room. But what interested him more were the objects on the counter. 

Colt walked into the room. 

There were odds and ends strewn all over the counter -- ID cards, pieces of clothing, toys, cameras, maps and letters.

Things that belonged to people. 

Colt looked up at the walls, lifting the lighter so he could see better.

The cubbies also had objects in them, a lot of them labeled with a single strip of paper taped to the bottom of the cubby. Some of the strips had names written on them, others said something like  _ mother  _ or  _ boy _ or  _ reporter.  _ Some of them were yellow with age. All of them were labeled with a date. The dates ranged all the way back to the 2050’s. Colt recognized a few of the names as some of his missing persons cases.

“What the hell?” he muttered. “Is this your trophy room, Morpheus?” 

The shelves appeared to be in roughly chronological order, with the earliest dates near the ceiling. The possessions on the table were jumbled and unlabeled -- stuff waiting to be shelved maybe? Colt shifted through some of it, heart speeding up as he found a flashlight. He flicked the switch and it turned on, a shining beam cutting through the dark room. He discarded the lighter in favor of the brighter light and turned back to the shelves. 

Near the bottom right-hand side, he found his own entry.  _ Colt Rackham, 31, August 31, 2073.  _ Colt felt a cold chill go down his spine. 

“How does he know how old I am?” 

He checked the cubby. All of his possessions were there except his gun. Colt cursed under his breath as he pocketed his own lighter and the tracker he’d used to find Lily’s ship. He found Andel’s radio. His cigarettes and field binoculars. And all the way at the back of the cubby, his photograph of Sicily and Ruby. Colt slid the photo into his shirt pocket and grabbed the radio. Maybe it was time to call in that backup.

He flicked the radio on and the power light lit up green. Colt flipped to channel nine and tried to get a signal, but all he got was a burst of static. 

He hit the button to talk. “Andel?” 

A squeal of static sprayed out of the radio. Colt winced.

He hit the button again. “Andel, you there? Come in. It’s Colt. I need that rescue, Chief.” 

Nothing but static. 

Colt sighed and turned the radio off, slumping down to the floor until he sat with his back against the counter. Either Morpheus had a jammer or he was too deep into the building to get a signal. Of course. 

He sighed and tried to swallow, but only ended up coughing. He needed to find some water. And soon. He was exhausted, despite having been “asleep” this whole time. 

Maybe he’d sit here for a moment. Get his breath back. Let the pounding in his head stop. 

He took the photograph out of his pocket and shined his newfound flashlight on it. It was his favorite picture of Sicily and Ruby, taken about four months before they died. They were at a park in Tharsis and Sicily was pushing Ruby on a swing. Colt snapped the picture right at the moment Sicily pushed their daughter forward and both of them were smiling and laughing. Ruby’s hair flew around her head in a halo of messy curls and Sicily was looking straight at the camera, eyes twinkling. 

Colt put his head back against the counter and closed his eyes. 

He couldn’t keep doing this. 

Why was he even here? 

What was he going to accomplish in this abandoned facility anyway? Who was he going to save? Certainly not Sicily or Ruby. 

Not Lily. 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’d hoped that this would help him forget. That he could throw himself into his work again and everything would go back to normal. 

Well, look where that got him. With another dead girl on his hands. 

Colt sighed and closed his eyes. 

His head dropped onto his chest.

And he fell asleep. 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, perhaps, one of my favorite chapters to write so far and I certainly had fun with Morpheus in this one...which, unfortunately, means Colt gets the very short end of the stick. This is also the chapter that earned the graphic warning in the tags. Just FYI.

“You couldn’t save them then. What makes you think that you’ll be able to save them now? Pity, isn’t it, because they were such precious girls.” 

“N-no. I will save them. I can. I will.” 

“You didn’t.” 

Silence. 

“Not even Lily.” 

Colt blanched. The room was dark, pitch black in all directions. Nothing in here but him and the voice. “Shut up!” His voice wavered and he cursed his weakness. “I had nothing to do with Lily’s death.” 

“You didn’t arrive in time.” 

Colt shivered and rubbed his arms. 

“Just like you didn’t arrive for your own  _ wife and daughter _ .” 

“I tried, dammit!” Colt felt tears prick his eyes. He angrily swiped them away. “I tried. I did everything in my power to get to my girls!” 

“Everything?” 

Colt didn’t answer. 

“You know you could have gotten there faster if you went yourself. But you dragged Andel into the matter didn’t you? You dragged ISSP and the whole force to that little warehouse on the docks. And all for what?” 

“Shut up! SHUT UP!” Colt put his hands over his ears. 

The voice laughed. “That’s not going to help you here.” 

Colt fell to his knees. 

“Who are you really, Colt? Always the bungler, always needing your chief to rescue you. Never being on time to rescue those who need you. You’re weak.” 

“No.” 

“You hide behind your disguises because you can’t stand who you are.” 

“N-no.” Colt folded up, tucking his head under his arms, rocking back and forth. “No! That’s not who I am.” His voice trailed off until it was barely more than a whisper. 

“Then who are you, really, Colt Rackham?” the voice purred. 

“I--I--” Colt opened his mouth but no words would come out. His mind went utterly blank. Who was he? He was nobody. He was…

“Colt!” a hand descended on his shoulder, shook him. 

Colt froze, looking up between his hands. That was a new voice. A familiar voice. 

“Colt! Wake up.” 

Colt lifted his head…

...and opened his eyes to a concerned face staring down at him. 

“Wake up, son.” 

Colt jerked awake, away from the hand on his shoulder, knocking his head against the counter. Colt winced and blinked. He was back in the cubby room. And he knew the face leaning over him, eyes faded by the sun, mouth tilted sternly. “Chief!” 

“Easy now, boy. You’ve really taken a hit.” 

Colt looked down at himself. “A hit? No, I-I’m fine. I’m tired. A little dizzy.” 

“No wonder. You’ve been here for two whole days.” 

Colt sat up straighter. “Chief, I found Lily. I found all of them. All my missing persons. Everybody’s here. I was right!” Colt got unsteadily to his knees. “Look at this.” He pointed at the cubbies behind Andel. Andel turned. “He’s a lunatic. He’s been stealing people since like 2050 something.” Colt dragged himself upright, holding onto the shelves for balance. “All the pieces are falling into place. We’ve got to get a team out here to investigate. We’ve got --” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, Colt. First we’ve got to get you out of here. Then we can look into…” Andel stood up and glanced around. “All of this.” 

“Chief, there’s this man. He calls himself Lyle or Morpheus and he’s--” 

Andel put both his hands on Colt’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “Slow down. Not here. You’re rambling, boy. Let’s get you safe first. Then you can tell me everything.” 

Colt stopped, mouth open for his next word. After a second or two, he shut it. Then he nodded. “Ok. Ok. Yeah, Chief. Let’s go.” 

“Good boy.” Andel gently clapped him on the shoulder. 

Colt nodded, feeling stunned. Feeling relieved. Feeling like this was all another dream. But it wasn’t, was it? Andel was so real, solid, comforting. 

Andel put a steadying arm around Colt’s shoulders and led him out of the room. Colt staggered along beside him in silence, glad for the support. Andel led him down the hall.

“You know, Colt, I’ve been thinking…” 

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe you ought to take a little break after this investigation.”

“A break? But Chief, I was just gone for--” 

Andel held up a hand. “No, I mean a real break. A vacation. Somewhere nice and relaxing and removed from all of this. Maybe even on a different planet entirely.” 

Colt tried to lick suddenly dry lips, but he barely had any moisture in his mouth to do it. “I-I can’t do that, Chief. You know I want to come back to the force.” 

Andel gently steered him toward a set of metal doors at the end of the hall. An elevator. 

“I know you do, son, and I want to have you back, believe me.” Andel pressed the button for the elevator and the doors slid open shakily to reveal a dusty car with faded carpet. Colt was surprised that the thing still worked. He had assumed there wasn’t any power left in the old building. 

“You sure this is safe?” Colt eyed the elevator car warily. 

“Sure,” Andel said. “It’s how I got down to you.” He gently pushed Colt inside, stepping in after him. 

“Down?” Colt noticed that the lights inside the elevator indicated they were going up. “Shouldn’t we be going down to get out?” 

The doors slid shut. Andel hit the button for the tenth floor -- the top floor. “No, we’ve got a ship waiting up on the roof for ya, Colt.” 

A ship. On the roof. A lot of medical facilities had landing pads on the roof for emergency vehicles and spacecraft. It would be the easiest place to land a craft near here, considering most of the surrounding land was full of trees. And yet...

Colt watched the lights on the buttons flash and fade as they rose, passing each floor with a quiet ding. 

“Did you find the ships?” he asked around floor eight. 

“Yeah.” Andel nodded. “A real graveyard.”

The elevator slowed and came to a stop, the doors hissing open as a panel near the top of the car displayed the number ten. 

Andel put his hand around Colt’s shoulders again and guided him out of the car. Colt walked down the hall without a word. The top floor of the facility was even worse than the rest of the building. About halfway down the hall, the roof had collapsed, leaving a pile of debris and wreckage that made the tenth floor all but impassable. 

“Chief?”

“Not now, Colt.” Andel turned to the right and opened a door to a short set of stairs that led up onto the roof. Colt blinked in the sudden light of the sun. A sluggish breeze rolled down the stairs and hit him in the face. He hadn’t realized how dead the air in here was. It was good to feel the outdoors, even if it was humid and hot. 

Andel helped Colt up the stairs. 

“Chief, do you really think it’s safe to--” the words died on Colt’s lips as they stepped out onto the roof.

There was no ship. In fact, there was no landing pad either. Where the landing pad had once been was the collapsed section of roof. Broken beams and sharp pieces of wood stuck up out of a giant pit that took about half of the roof. 

Colt pulled away from Andel. 

Andel turned and looked at him with surprise. A look that was too molded. Too perfect. Too sculpted. “Colt? Where are you going?” 

“You’re not him,” Colt said. He staggered back a few more steps. “You’re not the Chief.” 

Andel took a few steps forward. “Of course I am, son.” 

“No! Get away from me!” Colt tripped on a piece of rubble and sat down hard, scrambling backwards on his hands and feet. 

Andel paused, looking torn. He held his hands up. “Colt, it’s me. I’m trying to help you.” 

“Then where’s the ship?” Colt demanded. 

Andel looked at him in confusion. “It’s right there.” He pointed behind him. At the pit. At empty air. “Don’t you see it?” 

Colt paused. 

“You’re hallucinating, boy,” Andel said gently. “You’re dehydrated. It’s ok. I’m here to help.” Andel held his hands up and took a few steps forward. 

Colt watched him warily. 

“Let me help you. Let me take you home.” 

Colt staggered to his feet again, wobbly, uncertain. He looked behind him. He only had a foot or two of roof left and then a heart-stopping ten-story drop into the jungle. He looked over Andel’s shoulder. All he could see was the pit. There was no ship. 

Colt closed his eyes and opened them again. 

Nothing changed. 

The breeze picked up, tugging at his coat. It whipped his hat off and sent it careening over the edge. Colt watched it go, then turned back to Andel. He was nearly within arm’s reach again. 

“You’re not him.” Colt shook his head. “This isn’t right. This isn’t right!” Colt put his hands up to the side of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Get out of my head, Morpheus! Get out!” 

He felt hands on his shoulders again, holding him tightly. Someone forced him upright. He kept his eyes shut, like maybe somehow if he couldn’t see what was going on, he could make it untrue. 

“Get off me!” 

“Colt! Let me help.”

Colt tried to pull away, but Andel held on. They grappled, staggering closer to the edge. 

“You’re not him. This isn’t real. None of this is happening!” 

Somewhere, someone snapped their fingers and Colt’s eyes flew open, almost against his will. He was face to face with Andel and they were only inches from the edge of the roof. Andel was breathing hard. Colt felt a rising sense of fear clutch at his chest. 

And then Andel smiled, a slow, evil smile, so out of place on the Chief’s face. 

“You should have listened, Colt,” he said. 

“What?” Colt gasped. 

Andel shook him. 

Colt tried to push him off, but he didn’t have the strength. 

“You should have believed me when I said there was a ship.” 

“But there isn’t--” 

“Silence!” 

Sheer surprise shut Colt’s mouth. 

“Chief…” he whispered. He knew this wasn’t right. He knew this wasn’t Andel. And yet...and yet it felt so real. It felt so wrong. Colt gulped. 

Andel forced him back another few steps until one foot hung over the edge of the roof and the only thing keeping Colt from falling was Andel’s grip on the front of his shirt. 

“Chief, no--” 

“You were never the favorite,” Andel snarled. 

And let go. 

Colt screamed as he plummeted.

* * *

The tree caught him. Or, more accurately, impaled him. 

The pain was excruciating -- a sharp, white-hot fire in his side, pinning him like a butterfly to a cork board. He coughed. Blood splattered his chest, his hands. Tears fell down his cheeks. His head lolled. He was still nearly ten feet off the ground. He should be dead. 

“Oh, yes, you should,” a voice agreed amicably. 

Morpheus appeared at the bottom of the tree. 

Colt could barely focus on him, but even blurry, he recognized the dark robe. 

“You know, we’ve really got to stop meeting like this. With you constantly dying and bleeding out everywhere, it’s kind of hard to get to know you.” 

Colt wheezed. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Morpheus put a hand up to his ear as if to hear better. 

Colt groaned. 

Morpheus snapped his fingers. Suddenly they weren’t outside anymore, but back in the facility, in a large, dark space. Colt couldn't make out any walls or doors, just the cold concrete floor.

Colt dropped ten feet and hit the ground. He coughed again and more blood sprayed out of his mouth. 

“Such a pitiful creature.” Morpheus walked up and circled him, like some predatory bird. “I’d have thought an ISSP detective would be a little bit tougher. Then again, you did manage to wake yourself up.” Morpheus put his hand on his chin and tapped his toe thoughtfully. 

Colt gasped and realized that, against all odds, he could still breathe. And if he could breathe, he could talk. “Why...are you doing this?” 

Morpheus looked down, surprised. “Because it’s fun!” He said it like the answer was obvious. “Because you can’t stop me.” 

Colt pushed himself up to his hands and knees. A stream of blood fell out of his mouth and splashed on the ground between his hands. “I woke up once,” he spat. “I can...do it again.” 

Morpheus grinned. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter if you do. The lullaby of Somnus will just lure you back in.” 

“The hell it will!” Colt tried to lunge at Morpheus, but only succeeded in collapsing clumsily to the ground, pain lancing through his side. He curled up and shut his eyes, feeling sick. 

Morpheus walked closer and kicked him in the ribs. 

Colt yelped. 

“Oh, does that hurt?” 

Colt didn’t have the strength to answer. 

Morpheus knelt beside him. “How about this?” He thrust his hand into the wound in Colt’s side. 

“AAHHHHAHHH!” Colt screamed. 

Morpheus twisted his hand. 

Colt’s world exploded in pain so bright he wasn’t even sure he was still alive. And then, the pain faded. The light receded, until he could see the room again, the dirty concrete and cobweb-filled corners. 

Colt lay on the ground, panting, utterly spent. He gathered himself enough to speak. “Why...not...just kill...me?” 

“And get it over with?” Morpheus’ eyebrows shot up. “Because that would be much too easy, Colt.” He stood up and turned a slow circle, looking at the room around him. “Because that wouldn’t be  _ fun _ .” 

“Then...fight me...bastard.” 

“Like this? You’d lose, you hopeless idiot.” 

“Coward.” 

“Who’s the one on the floor?” 

“I’m only...here...because you...won’t let me...up.” Colt glared at Morpheus. 

“Then stand up, Colt Rackham. I won’t stop you.” Morpheus smiled, a wide, face-splitting grin, showing all his teeth. 

Colt put his hands against the floor and pushed himself upright. 

“Oh, impressive.” 

Colt got himself to his hands and knees. He coughed again. His arms shook. He could feel blood seep from his injured side. It was all around him on the floor. Too much blood. He should be dead. 

Morpheus sat down cross-legged on the ground a few feet away. “Here, let me make it easier for you. I’ll get down on your level.” 

“Damn you!” Colt snarled. 

Morpheus sighed. “You’re not very sporting, are you?” 

“Go to hell, Morpheus!” 

Morpheus gave a theatrical sigh and shrugged. “Well, if that’s what you want.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared. 

Colt’s hand slipped on the blood-slick floor and he crashed to the ground again with a whimper of pain. The room spun and fractured around him. His vision blurred. His breath hitched in his side. 

“Fight me all you want, Colt. You’re in my world now,” Morpheus’ voice echoed all around him. “And here we play by my rules.” Morpheus laughed. 

Colt closed his eyes and listened to the sound echo off into the darkness. 


	9. Chapter Nine

He didn’t really sleep. And he didn’t die. 

He simply lay there, existing. 

And thinking. 

Because no matter what Morpheus did to him, he always left him with his thoughts. Probably on purpose. So that he could relieve all of the pain and terror of the last few days. 

Colt sighed. 

It hadn’t started bad. 

Maybe Morpheus was right. Maybe he should have stayed in the dream. 

Yeah, right. 

Stayed in it and died in it.

If he died, he was trapped in Morpheus’ twisted fantasy forever. Or at least for the foreseeable future. The dream had to end eventually, right? No one was immortal. Morpheus would end. His world would end. Sometime. Right?

But Colt could neither count on that nor wait for it. He was working on a short fuse quickly getting shorter. He had a day left, maybe two, to get himself out of here before dehydration and sheer exhaustion shut his body down. Which meant he had to move. His whole body shuddered at the prospect. 

_ Start small, Rackham. Start small. None of this is real.  _

Colt's right hand was lying in front of his face. He twitched his fingers. He saw them move, even if he couldn't feel it. Glass half full, then. 

He’d woken up once before. He could do it again. He just had to figure out how. The problem was, he wasn’t sure how to replicate his experience. The first time he woke up, he “killed” Morpheus. It seemed to take the lunatic some time to reappear after his “death.” But since this was all an illusion, then Morpheus couldn’t really be killed. Unless Colt could find his body somewhere in the real world. 

He groaned. That was a task much too difficult for the here and now. If he got out of this dream, the best he could hope for would be to find a way out of the building. And barring that, to die somewhere quiet and alone. He shuddered. Far away from Morpheus. 

Colt dragged his arm across the floor. 

He pulled his legs in and pushed himself up until he was on his hands and knees. He swayed, but he stayed upright. 

_ So if he wants you to feel pain, you do. _

Well, Colt didn’t want to feel pain, dammit. So he wouldn’t.

Colt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Perhaps this was just like his characters. Focus enough and he could alter the world. He focused on himself, on what he looked like whole and alive, without any injuries. He focused on what he felt like on a good day. When adrenaline coursed through his veins. On the hunt. When he felt most alive. 

Sweat trickled down his face, but the pain started to fade. He gulped in another breath and it hitched less in his chest. The wound in his side went from a pounding, all-encompassing lance of fire to a dull ache. His arms shook, but more from strain than sheer weakness. He spit and it wasn’t blood coming out of his mouth anymore, but saliva. 

Colt opened his eyes. 

He had a splitting headache and he was drenched in sweat, but he wasn’t gushing blood anymore. He put a hand up to his side. There was no wound, no scar, just smooth skin. He laughed, breathless. 

“Take that, Morpheus!” 

Colt tried to stand up, but his legs were as shaky as his namesake’s and he only made it halfway to standing before he staggered and fell. “Dammit!” 

“Colt!” A scream pierced the air. 

Colt lifted his head.  _ Huh? That sounded like… _ “Lily?” 

“Colt!” 

“Lily? Where are you?” He tried to push himself up, but only got himself propped on one elbow. Damn it! Why couldn’t he stand? Why was he so weak? 

“Help me!” She sounded alone and frightened. 

This could, of course, all just be another of Morpheus’ illusions. Colt groaned. But if it wasn’t and Lily really was in trouble, could he risk not coming to her aid? He crawled across the floor until he found a wall and used it to get himself to his feet. He took a few seconds to find his balance. 

“Colt!” Lily screamed again. 

Colt ground his teeth and turned to face the sound. It was coming from somewhere to his left. He left the wall and started walking, forcing himself into a faster pace as his body regained its equilibrium, until he was running. He was in a long hallway -- longer than it should have been for the size of the facility, but he supposed at this point that shouldn’t surprise him. A set of double doors appeared at the end of the hall, hanging crookedly from their hinges, blackened and warped, as if something had exploded them. 

Colt slowed and stopped outside the doors. He was getting tired of finding surprises behind closed doors. Cautiously, he reached out and pushed one of the doors open. It didn’t resist and swung drunkenly away from him. He stepped through into a lab area -- full of skeletons. 

Work stations covered one side of the lab, strewn with old, yellowed paper and computers long unused. The other side of the room held two exam tables, each with a set of restraints and straps. On the wall directly in front of him was a shattered tank, some weird sort of green fluid leaking out of it and spreading across the floor. A line of rusted metal bodies...robots?...stood near the tank. Skeletons were scattered across the room, lying in strange positions, as if they’d been in a fight. A few of them near the door were even in SWAT gear. 

And strapped to one of the tables was Lily. 

She couldn’t turn her head very far due to the heavy leather strap over her forehead, but her eyes flicked over to Colt, wide and alarmed. “Colt! Get me out of here, please!” 

“Lily!” Colt ran over to the table. “What’s going on here?” 

“It’s Morpheus,” Lily gasped, her face tear-streaked. “Please, just get me off this table.”

“Right.” Colt reached for the straps around Lily’s wrists. 

“Daddy!” 

Colt whirled. He knew that voice. He felt something in his chest go cold. The tank wasn't shattered or empty anymore. And inside was his daughter. Ruby was crying, her cheeks wet with tears, her nose snotty. Her hands were pressed up against the glass of the tank and she banged on it with her hands. 

“Daddy!” Her voice was muffled by the glass, but Colt could tell she was screaming. 

He started toward the tank. Lily screamed. 

He looked back at her and one of the skeletons from the floor was standing by the table, his hands around Lily’s throat. The bony fingers tightened against her flesh, drawing blood. Lily gagged. 

“Daddy!” 

Colt whirled to the tank again. A thick, green fluid began to fill the tank and was already splashing around Ruby’s knees. In moments, it would engulf the little girl. He had to do something! He looked around the room for something heavy, anything to shatter the glass. He reached down and grabbed a broken leg bone off the ground. He wasn’t sure it would work, but it was all he had. 

“Ruby! Hold on. I'm coming!” he ran toward the tank. 

“Jack!” From the other side of the room, a third voice arrested him. He looked over toward the research stations to see Sicily, held up by two more skeletons. A third skeleton leered over her, a rusty syringe in his hand. Sicily struggled, her gaze locked on the needle. 

Colt froze, his whole body trembling. There was no way to save them all. He felt fear grip his chest so tight he couldn't breathe. There was no way out of this one. He'd have to choose and he couldn't. He couldn't….he couldn't...

“Colt!” 

“Daddy!” 

“Jack!” 

Which one? Who did he choose? Colt grit his teeth. 

“Standing still isn't going to help anyone," a gleeful voice interrupted.

Colt turned around. Morpheus was leaning against the door frame of the ruined doors, arms crossed, looking bored. 

“You can’t save them all, Colt. So which one do you go for?” 

Colt looked back around the room, at Lily, blood trickling down her throat, at Ruby, now with liquid up to her chest, at Sicily, the needle only inches from her arm as the skeletons held her still. 

“Who is more important?” Morpheus asked. 

Colt shook his head. 

“None of them?” 

“Shut up!” Colt shouted. “Let me think!” 

Ruby screamed. 

Lily gagged again. 

Sicily cried, “Jack, please! Do something!” 

Colt's fingers went numb. The leg bone clattered to the floor. His feet were frozen. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He had failed to save each of these girls in life. How was he supposed to save them here? Heavy dread weighed him down and he fell to his knees.

“Lily is a regrettable loss, to be sure, but she isn’t family.” Morpheus sounded like he was having a discussion about the weather or what he should eat for dinner.  “Surely your wife and daughter are more important?” Morpheus took a few steps into the room. “The clock is ticking, tick, tock, tick, tock. You have only seconds to make a decision. Why aren't you moving, Colt? Will you let them all die?” 

There was no option where he could win here. No matter what he did, one of the girls would die. And he doubted that he could even get to two of them in time. 

“Are you giving up?” Morpheus asked cheerfully. He walked up to Colt, leaning over his shoulder to whisper in his ear. “That’s right, detective. Sit here and watch them die. It's not like it will be a first for you.” 

Colt put his head in his hands.  _ No, that’s a lie. I tried. I tried. _

“Not hard enough. Try as you might, you can only save one. Now who will it be?” 

Who did he save? How did he answer that question? 

"Jack!" Sicily shouted, but Colt couldn't bring himself to raise his eyes. Not even to look at his wife. He had failed her before. Why should now be any different? What good could he do?

Morpheus wanted him to rush in headlong to save one of the girls. If he did, Colt was certain Morpheus would just kill them instantly...or kill him before he could reach them. 

So then, what was the solution? 

“You’re out of time,” Morpheus snapped. “Who will it be? Or will you let them all die like you did in life?"

_ Life...life...life… _

A sudden jolt went down Colt's spine. In life all of the girls were dead. His wife. His daughter. Lily. He had seen them all lifeless. 

Which meant that this was nothing more than an illusion. 

A dream to prey on Colt's feelings, his insecurities, his fears. But that wouldn't work if it wasn't Colt facing those fears. 

Colt’s head suddenly snapped up, and he met Morpheus’ gaze without flinching. “No one.” 

"What?" 

"No one," Colt repeated. "I choose to save no one, Morpheus." 

Colt concentrated on an image in his head. Of a man in a dark suit with blue accents. A man with cold steel eyes. A man with no scruples, no morals, and best of all, no fear. If the memories Morpheus wanted to taunt him with were Colt’s, well, then, he wouldn’t be Colt anymore, would he? 

He felt the shift in his features as his face narrowed. His hands became thinner, the fingers longer. 

Colt grinned. Only he wasn’t Colt anymore. He was Rafe Caravelli, Blue Snake enforcer, crack-shot, and terror of Tharsis. Second only to the infamous Red Dragon enforcer once known as Mao’s Right Hand. 

The illusion faded. Behind him, the glass in the tank shattered, the liquid pouring out. But Ruby was no longer inside. The skeleton gripping Lily was suddenly gripping just another skeleton and the same for the skeletons holding Sicily. 

Colt laughed. "Check. Your move."

“What?” Morpheus shrieked, staring at the ruined room with something like fear in his eyes. “How are you doing this?!” 

Colt reached into his suit coat and smiled when his fingers found the cold grip of his Colt revolver. A little joke on his part when he took the disguise of Rafe. 

“The same way I'm doing this!” Colt drew and pulled the trigger in the same motion. 

Morpheus had enough time to look surprised before Colt’s bullet took him clean in the heart. He spun and collapsed. 

The illusion shattered.

* * *

Colt woke up with a gasp that triggered a cough. He got his breath back after a few seconds. He was still sitting against the cabinet in the cubby room, flashlight and photograph lying in his lap. 

What? 

Hadn’t Andel…?

No. That was part of the dream. This was reality. Colt glanced at his watch. 10pm. September 2nd. So, Morpheus had pulled him back for another seven hours. He needed to find a way out. A way down. 

A way to keep Morpheus from pulling him back in. 

Colt slipped the photograph into his pocket and staggered to his feet. It was harder to pick himself up this time. Harder to function through the haze settling on his mind, through the fatigue, through the thirst, through sheer exhaustion. 

He could do this. Just one foot in front of the other. That’s all it took. 

He staggered down the stairs, working his way to a lower floor. He only got down to the third floor before more debris and a collapse on the staircase forced him back into the hallways. 

Colt staggered out of the stairway and leaned up against the wall. 

He was so tired. 

His eyes flickered shut. 

His head dropped. 

A thought struck him like lighting. 

_ Whatever you do, don’t listen to him. Don’t listen, Colt. _

_ The lullaby of Somnus will just lure you back in.  _

Every time he’d been lured into the dream world, he’d fallen asleep. He lifted his head with effort. He couldn’t fall asleep. 

But what…?

_ Lullaby.  _

_ Lullaby of Somnus. _

_ Don’t listen… _

Colt staggered upright. It wasn’t drugs that Morpheus was using to lure people in. It was sound! Somehow, he was using sound to create an atmosphere that allowed him access into people’s heads! In fact, now that Colt thought about it, he remembered music playing in Somnus the first day he was here. Something that had lulled him to sleep. 

There was no music that Colt could hear playing now, but, of course, there were many frequencies that the human ear couldn’t detect. Sound you felt more than heard, or simply didn’t hear at all. 

Didn’t hear...he had to find some way to stop himself from hearing whatever Morpheus was broadcasting. Colt looked around the hall and down at himself. He didn’t have anything on him that would work. He pulled himself away from the wall and burst into the nearest exam room. 

This was a hospital. There were old supplies in the rooms. He remembered seeing gauze and cotton balls in the first room he woke up in. 

He shined his flashlight wildly around the room. A half-open cabinet caught his eye. He staggered toward it. His eyes flickered shut again. He could barely keep his head up. 

He fell to his knees in front of the cabinet, sleep dragging at him like a live thing. 

The flashlight clattered to the floor.

Colt yanked the cabinet door open. 

Boxes of gauze and cotton balls met his gaze, about eye level where he knelt. 

Now all he needed…

He reached out. 

His fingers closed over the gauze, even as he tipped forward, body going limp. 

_ No! This can’t be happening! Not now! _

His clumsy fingers slipped, he toppled, and struck his head against the cabinet shelf. The world blurred and went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a good laugh about this chapter (I know that sounds terrible, as it's not really a funny chapter) but right after I wrote this one, Shadowcrest posted her chapter to Diving Deep Into the Night where Morpheus puts Jet in a very similar situation and makes him choose between saving Spike or saving Faye. And I messaged Shadowcrest to say that we thought alike, since I'd written this chapter without knowing that she'd done the same thing in her fic. XD Blame Morpheus, I guess.


	10. Chapter Ten

He was back in the dream. He knew he was, but somehow that didn’t make his heart beat any slower. Didn’t make his mouth any less dry. Didn’t feel good. 

Perhaps that was because he knew now, at least on a rudimentary level, what was going on. And despite successfully pulling himself out of the world twice, he doubted that he’d be able to do it a third time. After the stunts he’d pulled, Colt was certain Morpheus would be even more focused on keeping him here. Which meant Morpheus would be on his guard and wise to Colt’s tricks. 

He had a feeling that simply morphing into an alias wouldn’t work again. Perhaps there were other ways to break the dream, but so far, killing Morpheus was the only sure way Colt knew of. And he didn’t have time to try to figure out another method. If his last foray into reality was any indication, he had to get himself out of this mess very soon. Morpheus would know that too. 

Which meant he’d be doing everything in his power to stop Colt from getting out of the dream. 

Colt slipped his hands into his pockets and slunk down one of the halls in the facility. He wasn’t entirely sure which one. The markings on the walls all blurred in his mind, creating the sense of being trapped in a giant maze. He’d been surprised to find that all of his possessions had come with him this time. The contents of his pockets were intact. Not that they’d help much in here. 

His mouth was so dry, he didn't even want the cigarettes, although he itched for the distraction they'd provide. The physical effects of dehydration seemed to be reaching him here in the dream world too. He had no time. No time. And no way to know how long he’d been pacing the halls of Somnus, but it felt like hours. And there’d been no sign of Morpheus yet. 

Perhaps that was all part of the ploy. Just keep him waiting here long enough that his body died and he got trapped. Colt tried telling himself this wasn’t real, tried convincing himself that it was all an illusion. With nothing but concrete stretching in every direction, he found it harder to do than when he’d been faced with Lily, Sicily, and Ruby. There was something easier about finding the trick when he’d been confronted by the unreality of the dead coming back to life. That was something sure. Something he knew was false. 

But this? This could be real. He was tired. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, his throat felt like sandpaper. All of that could be real. The debris, the skeletons, the concrete walls and flaking paint. All of it could be real. 

Was it real? 

No. This was the dream. 

But how could he tell? Until Morpheus showed up, he couldn’t and the longer he walked the halls without any sign of the dream, the more he began to question his own senses.

* * *

Colt wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but at some point he did. He dreamed of fire. He dreamed of Sicily. He dreamed of Andel. He dreamed of Ruby. He dreamed of Lily. At some point, he was no longer sure where the dreaming ended and reality began. There was screaming. There was pain. But there was also desire. 

Why didn’t he just give in? 

_ You can’t give in.  _

_ Don’t you dare give in.  _

He dreamed of fire. 

The feeling of being watched woke him up with a jolt. Like a cold finger sliding down his spine, putting every nerve in his body on end. One moment, he was asleep, the next he was awake.

Colt stiffened. 

He was in a dark space again. He could feel the wall at his back, but he couldn’t see it. He could see himself, but nothing around him. 

Footsteps echoed in the empty space, but he couldn’t pinpoint their direction. A faint figure emerged from the gloom, a man. Backlit so that only the edges of his body were visible. His face remained in darkness. 

But Colt knew who it was. Knew with every fiber of his being. Knew with a deep sense of hatred and fear. And despite his heart beating a heavy rhythm against his ribcage, he knew he couldn’t just let Morpheus hold all the strings.

“Hello, Morpheus.” 

Morpheus was silent. 

Maybe caught off guard that Colt spoke first. 

Maybe using the silence as a power play. 

Colt didn’t know and didn’t much care. He didn’t stand up. What would be the point? Resisting was fruitless. Fighting didn’t work. His one defense against Morpheus was exhausted at this point -- Morpheus would expect him to try and shift into a character to escape this horror and Colt had no doubt that the maniac had a backup plan this time. 

After all, the third time was the charm. 

But not for Colt. 

“Hello, detective.” There was a smile in Morpheus’ voice. “Did you sleep well?” 

“No.” 

“That’s a shame.” 

“Not for you. Don’t lie. You enjoy my terror. You like my fear. You live for this, don’t you?” 

Morpheus paused. “Well, if I’m being honest with you, yes. I do.” He sounded ridiculously happy, on the edge of giggling. 

Colt sighed. “Then what are we doing here, huh? What are you throwing at me this time? My wife? My daughter? Lily? What?” 

Morpheus tilted his head. “It’s no fun if I use the same thing twice, Colt. No. Perhaps the same people. But it will never be the same scene. After all, I am like a director and you are the unwitting star of my play. I can’t repeat acts. The audience would get bored.” 

“What audience? You’re the only one in here.” 

Morpheus chuckled. “My dear Colt, there’s still so much you have to learn. But don’t worry. You’ll have eternity to do it!” Morpheus disappeared at the last word, all light leaving the world until it was so dark Colt couldn’t even see himself. 

“You see, the longer you stay here, the longer I get to muck about in your head.” Morpheus voice floated around the room, disembodied. Echoing. Surrounding. 

Colt let his head fall back against the wall. He closed his eyes. Might as well, he couldn’t see anything anyway. 

“And the longer I muck about in your head, the more I learn how you tick. And the more I learn how you tick, the better I can manipulate you.” 

Colt frowned. “Tell me something I don’t know. You use people. You kill them and you use them. To what? Enjoy their pain? Feel powerful?” 

“To study them. The human psyche is an amazing thing, you know. So...limitless. So...infinite. And yet, you people contain yourselves with base desires and simple fears. I simply expand on what is already in your head. What lives inside you that you are afraid to unleash.” 

_ Unleash… _

An image flashed in front of Colt’s eyes. For one tiny second. Fire. Heat. He felt it on his skin. He felt his blood boil. He felt sick. He felt the slick, hot, crimson stain of blood wash over him. 

_ Unleash… _

Perhaps. 

Colt took a deep breath. He felt giddy, but maybe that was just the real-world dehydration taking effect. He staggered to his feet in the pitch black space. 

“Oh?” Morpheus whispered. “You still want to play?” 

Colt tamped down the rising panic that gripped his chest. Not yet. Not now. He needed to wait. 

For the right moment. 

The lights in the room came back up. Colt opened his eyes. They were standing in a dingy hallway in the facility and Morpheus stood at the other end, mouth tilted in a wry smile. 

“You should have stayed down, detective. Just laid down and died. After all, I’m wise to your tricks. You think you can get away by pulling out your little characters?” Morpheus stalked forward. “Well, not this time. Because I’ve found the secret to breaking through your act.” 

Colt scowled, but he didn’t answer. He needed to think this through very carefully. Get every detail right. Because he was only going to have one shot at this. 

“You want to know what it is?” Morpheus was only a few feet away now. 

“Not really, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” 

Morpheus clapped his hands. “No, actually, I’m going to show you.” Morpheus blurred and he was suddenly standing right in front of Colt. He grinned. “On your knees, detective!” 

Colt gasped as he felt something rip through his right leg, by the knee. Fire spread through his skin and he stumbled and fell to one knee. Blood stained his pants. He groaned, gritting his teeth against the pain. 

Oh, God. He remembered this. He remembered this feeling. On a job about nine months ago, in Alba City, on loan to another police department in a chase down a back alley that ended badly. 

“That’s right, Colt. The one thing you can’t escape is pain.” Morpheus leaned down so he could look Colt in the eye. “Because no matter who you were playing at the time, you felt it.” 

Colt winced. 

“You remember that bullet wound now, don’t you?” Morpheus grinned. “Don’t worry. Being a detective gives me a long list of injuries to pull from. Turns out you were a busy man in your short tenure with precinct five.” 

Colt felt another sensation in his left shoulder. His arm suddenly wrenched behind his back, his shoulder popped as tendons and muscles strained. He growled as his arm fell limp. 

_ Dammit.  _

“No one can save you now, Colt. Not Sam. Not Rafe. Just give up. You have no one left to turn into.” 

_ No one left...but that wasn’t quite right, was it?  _

Colt lifted his head and looked Morpheus square in the eye. “You’re wrong, Morpheus. There is one more. You’re forgetting a very important character in this little drama.” 

Morpheus pulled back slightly, but his confident smile didn’t slip. “Oh? And who is that?” 

“Me.” Colt stabbed a thumb into his chest. 

Morpheus raised an eyebrow.

Colt steadied himself. “You haven’t been playing with shit yet, Morphy. You’ve just touched the tip of the iceberg.” He slowly stood up. “Because my name isn’t Sam, or Rafe, or even Colt. It’s Jack Rackham and I don’t take orders from sons of bitches like you!” 

Morpheus was silent for a half-second, and then he began to laugh, a slow, low laugh that echoed through the empty hall until it was a full belly laugh. He finally got himself back under control and wiped a hand across his face. “You think that gives you some sort of control,  _ detective _ ? Some sort of edge? You think that lets you escape the drama I’ve staged for you?” 

“Escape? Not so much.” 

“Good.” Morpheus' smile deepened, the shadows playing off his face, making the light in his eyes brighter. “Because now that you’ve been so kind as to strip all the illusions away yourself, I can pull out your worst fears. You think it hurt before? Well now I can make it Hell.” Morpheus laughed again.

Jack squared his shoulders and stood up straighter, despite his body’s protests. He drank in the pain, let it fuel the image in his mind. “You wanna play with fear, buddy? Then let’s go.” The edges of the room burst into flame, ghostly fire licking up the walls. “You want Hell? I’ll give you Hell.” The fire leaped higher and phantom heat filled the room. 

Morpheus spun, wide-eyed. “How…?” his voice sounded perhaps a little higher than he intended. 

Jack smirked. “I’m just beating you to the punch. You woulda found this anyway...if you dug deep enough.” 

Jack closed his eyes and let the memories take over, let everything he had shut up come flooding back, all layers, all characters peeled away. Nothing between him and the pain. Nothing between him and the fire.

The room was engulfed now, flames licking the walls, the ceiling, the floor, although they didn’t burn. Not yet. 

The effort drove Jack to his knees, but it also left Morpheus clutching at his head, as if Jack’s meddling affected him too. 

“What are you doing?” Morpheus shrieked. 

Panting, Jack looked up. “You said Hell, didn’t you? Well, I’ve been through Hell. This. This is my Hell. Welcome to the playground, Morpheus. Bet you didn’t expect me to play along. You want to mess with my head? Then here you go. Everything that’s in it. All the pain, all the hurt, all the rage. It’s yours.” 

Morpheus staggered back, as if Jack’s verbal assault dealt a physical blow. 

“Eat your heart out, bastard,” Jack snarled. 

The room shifted then, turning into the corrugated metal walls of a warehouse down by the Tharsis docks. Gunfire rang out in the distance. There was confused shouting and the tramp of boots running across concrete. Shadows ran through the flames, some of them screaming. 

Jack felt the pain amplifying, lancing straight into his head. He bowed up, hands squeezing at his temples, teeth grit. He was taking a huge risk here, letting Morpheus into this memory, but it was the only way he was going to get the drop on him. He had to let Morpheus think he’d won. 

Jack slowly crumpled, until he was lying on the floor, curled in the fetal position. The sheer intensity of the pain caught him off-guard. It felt like he was being wrenched apart, every piece of him stretched to its limit, every part of him on fire. He knew it took effort to manipulate Morpheus’ world, but somehow, he hadn’t expected it to take this much. 

Somewhere outside of the pain, he heard Morpheus speaking, incredulous, awed, like a child on Christmas morning. A very psychotic and maniacal child. “You would give me this?” 

Jack cracked open his eyes. His vision swam, blurred. Morpheus fractured in front of him, two, three, four of him swimming around the room. He blinked. Something trickled down the side of his face. He wasn’t sure if it was sweat or tears. 

Morpheus leaned down and grabbed a fistful of Jack’s hair, levering him halfway to sitting. Jack grunted, but the pain barely registered. Morpheus leaned down until they were face to face. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” 

Jack coughed. His throat felt hoarse, like it did that day he ran into the burning warehouse to rescue his wife and daughter. Smoke filled the room. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe. Even Morpheus’ face, just inches away, was an indistinct blur. 

Jack barely worked enough saliva into his mouth to spit. But he did and he spit on the blur. Morpheus drew back with a roar, dragging Jack with him until Jack was on his knees. The grip on his hair tightened. 

Jack grit his teeth. 

Morpheus spun him around so that he was facing out into the smoke-filled room. 

Shadows moved in the fire. Jack belatedly realized he could feel the heat now. His skin blistered and cracked. The pain was agonizing. 

The shadows solidified. 

Jack blinked, tears streaming freely down his face. 

Blue Snakes. The men he’d killed that day. The men who stood between him and his family. He remembered every detail, every line of their face, every tear in their clothing, every drop of blood. One of the men was missing an eye, one half his face, one an arm. Jack had been playing for keeps that day and a lot of these men met their fate at the end of an explosive. 

They all held guns. All seven of them. 

Despite the situation, Jack smiled. He was sure it was a terrifying expression. Morpheus shook him. “Do you see them, Jack?” he asked. 

Jack flinched at his name rolling off that vile tongue. There was nothing to hide behind anymore. Nothing between him and Morpheus. This was real and violent and raw. 

“Do you see them?!” Morpheus jerked his head. 

“Yes,” Jack gasped. 

“Do you know who they are?” 

“Yes. I killed them. And I would do it a thousand times over, you murderous bastard. You can’t torture me with their deaths.” 

“Oh, _ I’m _ not going to torture you, Jack.” The smile in Moprheus’ voice chilled him to the bone. “ _ They _ are.” 

Jack fought a shiver, but his body rebelled and he flinched. 

Morpheus laughed. 

The shadows -- all seven of them -- opened fire at the same time. 

Jack felt it. Felt each bullet rip through flesh and bone and pierce his skin. He felt it like a thousand tiny fires ignited all at once. 

He screamed. 

He couldn’t help it. 

And through it all, Morpheus stood there, laughing, holding Jack’s head up so that he couldn’t look away. The best Jack could do was close his eyes, but that didn’t stop the pain. That didn’t stop the bullets, or the blood. Jack could feel his body literally shutting down, but unlike normal, there was no blissful relief of passing out. He couldn’t give up, give in, fall unconscious. He couldn’t let the pain simply shut him down here. 

Because here, he was consciousness. 

There was no way to escape it. 

Jack had no idea how long the hail of bullets lasted, but he was suddenly aware that he was lying on the floor. How there was even enough of him left to lie on the floor was beyond him. He shouldn’t be able to think or see, either, but he could still do both. And why not? This was Morpheus’ world after all...even death didn’t follow the rules here. Jack tried to take a breath that wouldn’t come. Tried to gasp, to cry. 

He felt tears flow down his face, only because they were cool against his burning skin. He lay in a river of blood. More blood flowed from the dozens of gunshot wounds on his body. He could feel his heart pump in his chest, working double-time, spewing blood onto the floor. The poor organ didn’t even know it should stop. 

Blood dribbled from his mouth, his nose, his eyes. 

The room darkened and blurred, fracturing into a thousand crimson pieces. 

And then a shoe appeared in his vision. A shoe attached to a leg. Attached to a body. Then Morpheus descended and leaned down, his face filling Jack’s vision. 

“You should know by now that you can’t die here." 

Jack coughed. The sound was weak, barely a wheeze. He couldn’t do anything other than lay here, in his own blood, dying but not dead. 

"You know that this is my world, right? That I am omnipotent here?” Morpheus reached down and brushed Jack’s hair off his forehead, mockingly tender. 

Jack wanted to tell him to screw off, wanted to call him every nasty name he could think of, wanted to curse him six ways to Sunday, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t do anything other than listen. 

Morpheus ran a hand through his hair again. “But it wouldn’t be fair, would it, to let you go like this, so quickly?”

Jack whimpered, the sound entirely involuntary. He couldn’t feel over half of his body and what he could feel was white-hot pain. 

Morpheus smiled. “You won’t die, Jack. Not here. Not yet. Not ever, actually. But I think there is so much more I can squeeze from this memory before we’re done, don’t you?” Morpheus leaned closer, so close he was whispering into Jack’s ear. “So, I’m going to leave you here, for a while, to think about what you’ve done and what you  _ failed to do. _ Goodnight, Jack.” 

The only sound Jack managed was a choked gurgle as Morpheus spun and walked away. 

The Blue Snakes were gone too, for now. Jack wasn’t quite sure when they disappeared. 

The warehouse remained. 

The fire remained. 

He remained. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

When Jack woke up, he was still lying on the warehouse floor, his face pressed to cold concrete. Every part of him ached -- a bone-deep weariness that went beyond mere pain until pain was all that he was. But, he wasn’t in a pool of blood anymore. After several minutes, Jack recovered enough awareness to sit up. 

Miraculously, he wasn’t full of holes. Nor was he burnt to a crisp. He staggered to his feet. 

No one challenged him or shot him. But Morpheus was watching. He knew that. He flipped the bird in the general direction of the ceiling. It was ridiculous, but it made him feel marginally better. 

Now all he had to do was find _ the room _ . 

Jack took a few steps. Nothing happened. Phantom fire licked at the warehouse walls. Heat and smoke filled the room, but Jack found that it wasn’t unbearable. Maybe because this illusion, at its core, was his. 

So where was Morpheus? 

Jack looked around. He was in the main docking area of the warehouse. Doors led off of the large space into smaller hallways and storage rooms. He knew exactly which one he needed. Red door. Far right hand side of the warehouse. Past the loading bays and the maintenance rigs. He started toward the door. 

A shout rang out to his left. He ducked behind a nearby crate. 

Shit. 

The Blue Snakes. They were back, just like the day that Jack originally fought them. He risked a glance around the crate. They were indistinct shadows in the smoke, but he could make out the outline of guns in their hands. He instinctively reached under his left arm for his gun, but his fingers only bumped an empty holster. 

Dammit. Of course. Morpheus had taken his gun. Even in this memory. Colt sighed. 

He looked over at the door. He’d have to sprint across a nearly twenty foot space with no cover to get there. No cover and no offense. 

Right now, the Snakes didn’t seem to know exactly where he was. The smoke, while against him, was also on his side, letting him blend in and escape the guards. Jack glanced at the door again then scanned the warehouse floor. None of the shadows patrolling nearby were facing his way. 

He left the cover of the crate and sprinted. 

He got about halfway to the door before the bullets ripped into his back and sent him sprawling. He tasted blood again. His breath hitched, slowed. Fire raced down his limbs. He closed his eyes and gave in.

* * *

He woke up in the same place as before, lying on the cold warehouse floor. 

_ So, that’s how it is, is it? _

He took a deep breath. The bullet holes in his back were gone. He was...mostly whole. He got to his feet, ignoring his body’s protests. He took a few steps and heard the shout again. He ducked behind the crate. 

_ Deja vu. _

Despite Morpheus’ assurance that he didn’t play the same games twice, Jack had a sneaking suspicion that he did -- as long as they worked. Once Jack figured out how to win this one, Morpheus would change it up. So he’d just have to stay one step ahead. Think faster. Smarter. 

He knew where he needed to go. 

He knew it like he knew the back of his own hand. Seared into his memory. The fire, the smoke, the blood. That room in the back of the warehouse. Sicily and Ruby, limp figures tied to the wall, unmoving. Not breathing. 

No, that wasn’t entirely true. Sicily had been --

_ Stop it!  _

Bile rose in Jack's throat and he forced himself to breathe, to push the image out of his mind. If he let himself focus on that day, he wouldn’t be able to pull this off. He needed Morpheus to feel his desperation to reach that room, but not the reason. Not yet. 

Jack peered around the edge of the crate. Squinting through the smoke, he counted five figures. That meant two he couldn’t see, but if this scenario played out anything like it did in reality, the other two were above him, on a catwalk. He figured he could sneak past those two if he had to. 

He closed his eyes, remembering that day. 

Then he opened them and jumped out from behind the crate. As before, he sprinted for the door, but this time, he kept an eye on the shadowy figures. One of them shouted in surprise and pointed toward him. 

Jack smiled. Then he flicked his hand through the air, in the motion of throwing a grenade, aimed at the shadow Snakes. Just like he had on that day. The grenade appeared just as it left his fingers. An explosion rent the air, throwing Jack up against a wall. Heat washed over him and he pulled his coat up over his head. The Blue Snakes screamed and scattered, tossed by the concussive blast. 

Just like they had been in real life. 

Jack got to his feet with a laugh. “Are you watching, Morphy?” he shouted. “I hope so!” 

He wasn’t prepared for the sniper’s bullet that took him straight in the chest.

* * *

He woke up on the floor again. 

_ Damn it.  _

He grimaced. 

But this time, he made it to the door. Because this time, he didn’t stop to gloat after throwing his grenade. He ripped open the red door and ducked through, pressing himself to the wall as a few bullets skipped across the concrete after him. He was in a storage room now. Crates filled the floor, leaving narrow aisles in between. He remembered this room too. Remembered the harrowing race through the crates, bullets flying, trying to get to his girls while the Snakes nipped at his heels. How the fire  _ burned.  _

As if on cue, the room burst into flame, crates near the walls catching fire. The heat increased. Sweat trickled down Jack’s back. Well, there was nothing for it. He had to make it through this maze to get to...to Sicily. To Ruby.

Jack’s breath hitched and it had nothing to do with the searing heat. 

He paused, feeling his feet stick to the floor, his body freeze, sheer memory threatening to overwhelm him. 

“Better run, Jack. Or you’ll never reach them in time.” Morpheus’ voice came to him like a whisper this time. A breath, a suggestion, riding cold between his shoulder blades. 

Jack flinched. 

_ Run.  _

_ Better run.  _

_ So you can get to them on time. _

On time…

On time…

Fire raced up the walls. Fire raced toward Jack. 

“ _ RUN!” _

He ran. 

But the fire was faster. It stole Jack’s breath. It singed his hair, his clothes caught fire. His shoes began to melt. And still, he struggled through the crates. He got horribly turned around trying to avoid the flame. 

He threw an arm over his face, but it didn’t help. 

Jack’s steps slowed. 

_ You idiot...you did exactly what he wanted.  _

_ You ran. _

The fire was all around him now. 

Morpheus laughed. 

Jack hunched over, hands on his knees, trying to draw a breath. Trying to clear his head. But he couldn’t breathe. Again. He coughed. 

“Morpheus!” he shouted. “Bastard. I’m --” he coughed again. “I’m getting tired of this! It’s not going to work this time! I will win this!” 

Morpheus laughed again and the fire flared higher. “You don’t look like a winner from here, detective. But good luck anyway, I suppose.” 

Jack felt the pain overwhelm him for a few minutes before the fire took him and there was nothing left.

* * *

He started at the crates again. Like some damn video game. And he was stuck in a loop of respawns until he figured out how to beat the puzzle. Only, this puzzle changed every time he played and the stakes were his life. Jack stood at the entrance to the storeroom, staring warily at the crates. They weren’t on fire. Yet. But he had a feeling they would be as soon as he stepped into the room. 

And yet. 

He had to.

He had to walk through this room. 

“You can’t save them, you know.” Morpheus’s voice floated through the room again. 

Jack grimaced and tried to ignore it. 

“They’re already dead. What are you hoping to accomplish?” 

Jack grit his teeth and didn’t answer. 

“Saving them in this world won’t bring them back in yours, you know. Besides, even if it did, you’ll be too dead to know.” 

A finger traced down the back of Jack’s neck. 

Jack whirled, but there was no one there. 

Morpheus laughed and the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

“You’re stuck, Jack. Can’t move forward, can’t move back. There’s only death here for you. So just give up. Give in. It’ll be easy, I promise.” 

“Nothing is ever easy with you, jerkwad. If I die here, you get me forever. And if there’s one thing I’m not letting you do, it’s torture me for eternity.” 

“You don’t get a choice in the matter!” Morpheus snarled and the room flared ablaze once more. 

Jack stood still this time. 

_ It’s an illusion. It’s not real. It’s an illusion. It’s not real.  _

The day he’d gone into the warehouse, he’d grabbed a coat from a nearby firefighter and dashed into the burning building before anyone could stop him, coat slung over his head and shoulders. Now all he needed to do here was replicate that, just like his grenade. 

Jack pictured the coat in his mind, remembered the way the rough material felt in his hands that day, the shouts of the firefighters and his comrades as he made that mad-dash for the building. He flung an arm over his head and charged into the fire. The coat materialized in his hands. 

“Stop it!” Morpheus screamed. “Stop screwing with my world!” 

“Hey,” Jack panted under his makeshift shield. While it kept most of the heat at bay, it couldn’t stop all of it, and he could feel his shoes begin to melt again. The air was sharp and hot, stealing his breath even as sweat poured down his body. “You asked for this, Morphy. If you didn’t want it, you shouldn’t have tried so hard to break into my head.” 

“And you’re not supposed to be this resilient!” 

Jack laughed despite the situation. “One of my many faults.” 

He risked a glance out from under the coat and saw the door on the other side of the storeroom. Only one more room to go. He sprinted for the door, leaving trails of liquid rubber in his wake. He grabbed the door handle, ignoring the way it seared his palm, and opened it, throwing himself through to the other side. 

He shrugged off the coat and was a moment too late to dodge the sledgehammer that met his skull.

* * *

Jack woke up increasingly dizzy this time. 

Strange, he was on the other side of the crates now, just a door between him and...and...Them. His wife and daughter. 

Although flames licked absently at the edges of the room, he didn’t feel the overwhelming heat this time. 

And he didn’t trust any of this. Morpheus was nowhere to be seen. There was no one trying to kill him. Nothing happening. Just him and the door. Jack felt sick. There was something wrong here and he wasn’t sure what. But the only thing he knew to do was go forward. To face that memory again. To open that door. 

Jack only managed a step or two before nausea overtook him and he bent double, losing the contents of his stomach across the floor. He wiped a shaky hand across his mouth. He shouldn’t have been able to throw up. It should have just been dry heaves. This was all part of the illusion. Jack straightened up.

“You’re a sick bastard, Morpheus, you know that?” He spoke out loud even though he couldn’t see Morpheus. He knew Morpheus could hear him, even if he wasn’t physically present. Or mentally. Or whatever plane they were on in this world. “Dream vomit? Really?” 

There was no answer. 

Fear slid down Jack’s spine. 

He didn’t like the silence. 

It was somehow worse than the taunting and laughing. It was like crouching in the grass waiting for the panther to strike, knowing you’d never see him before it was too late. Jack swallowed hard. Or tried to. He ended up gagging. 

He just wanted to lie down. 

To quit. 

To -- 

_ Yes, give in, Jack. _

Jack staggered. He wasn’t sure whose voice that was. His? Morpheus? Sicily? 

_ Just embrace it. Give in.  _

Jack felt like the weight of the world had been laid on his shoulders. He was overwhelmingly tired and dizzy. 

_ It would be so easy, now. After all, there’s nothing left for you to accomplish here. No one left for you to save.  _

No one left…

_ You know what’s behind that door.  _

Yes. Yes he did. And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Because behind that door was his failure. Behind that door was everything Jack Rackham never wanted to face again as long as he lived. Behind that door was fear and pain and a dark, black hole so deep that it had swallowed him up that day and never spit him back out. 

Jack stumbled and sat down abruptly. He shook his head, but he couldn’t seem to clear it. The room swam. Heat shimmered off the walls, the floor. He could feel the floor heat up beneath him, but somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to move. It was warm here. It was...it was easy here. On the floor. 

_ Yes, easy. Just lay down and die now. You’ll get to see them again. All the ones you lost. Isn’t that what you want? _

Jack shuddered. “More than anything,” he whispered through cracked lips. 

_ Then lay down… _

Jack felt himself lie down, as if someone else was moving his body, his limbs. 

_ That’s it, Jack. Just give in. _

Jack’s eyes flickered closed. And yet. Yet…

_ Listen to the lullaby, Jack. _

No...There was something he was supposed to be...doing?

_ Listen… _

_ Listen… _

He heard it then, a gentle, alluring sound, encompassing him and all that he was until there was nothing of Jack left but that lullaby. 

_ Just...sleep… _

Sleep. Yes. That was the answer. That was the way to…

“Don’t listen!” 

Jack’s eyes snapped open. 

“Don’t listen, Colt!” 

That voice. He knew that voice. 

_ “No! Sleep! Sleep, Jack!” _

“Don’t listen!” 

Jack lifted his head and suddenly it didn’t seem quite so heavy anymore. He shook himself. Don’t listen. __

He heard a growl of rage in the distance and a shriek of fear and pain that lanced through him like the fire, hot and sharp. 

Jack was on his feet in an instant. 

He lunged for the door, his fingers grasping the handle. This. This was how he won. He had to face what was on the other side. 

Jack yanked open the door only to find Morpheus, grinning like a madman and holding Lily by her hair. Lily hung far too limp in his fingers, her eyes closed. Jack had no idea if she was Lily’s actual soul, or another of Morpheus’ illusions. He froze, his heart leaping into his throat. 

“You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?” Morpheus ground out between gritted teeth. “And you’ve had far too much help. Haven’t you?” He shook Lily. “But no more, Jack! No more. I will not let you get away. I will not let you manipulate this world anymore!” Morpheus threw Lily aside and lunged for Jack. 

Jack didn’t even have time to react before Morpheus’ fingers closed over his throat. Jack was forced to his knees. 

“I know what you’re trying to do!” Morpheus screamed in his face. “And it won’t work. Saving your wife and daughter here will change nothing!” 

Jack gagged, pulling at Morpheus’ fingers. 

“Nothing! Do you hear me?” Morpheus shook him. 

Jack gasped and struggled, eyes rolling. The room began to blur.  _ No! Not now...not...here...not this time… _

He was so close. He knew this room. He knew what he would see over Morpheus’ shoulder if he could just twist himself to the right angle to do it. He was so close. He’d come...this far. 

“You want to see them again?” Morpheus’ grin was insane, his eyes alight with madness and fire. “Do you?” 

Jack managed a nod. 

Morpheus spun him to the side, his fingers twisting on Jack’s throat. 

“Then look, Jack! Look one last time and look good because this is the last time you’ll ever see your wife and daughter!” 

Morpheus jerked Jack’s head to the side and there they were. Just as they had been all those nights ago. So still. So small. Bloody and beaten, both tied by the wrists to a metal beam screwed into the wall, both limp, heads down.

Though Jack couldn’t see it from this angle, he knew Ruby’s eyes were open. Open and sightless. 

And Sicily...

Sicily shuddered and tried to lift her head.

Fire erupted in Jack’s vision. 

But this time, the fire didn’t consume him. 

This time, he was the fire. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

_“...surely you see it in him, Andel. That streak of madness. The man’s dangerous.”_

Jack blinked. He remembered those words, this memory. The mayor, speaking with Chief Andel. This was a memory. 

And yet? How was that possible? 

He was aware, distantly, that this wasn’t reality. He was aware, distantly, of waves of pain and anger washing over him. Of rolls reversed. Of his fingers, made of pure fire, squeezing Morpheus’ throat now. Of himself pushing Morpheus to his knees. Of overwhelming, all consuming _power._

And yet. His mind was playing this scene for him. 

Or perhaps Morpheus was playing this scene for him. 

Jack was no longer sure. 

And no longer had the wherewithal to separate reality and dreams. So he watched. Just as he did that day. 

_“Dangerous, Andel. Did you hear me?” the mayor repeated._

_“I hear you. But that’s precisely what makes Rackham such an excellent double agent, sir,” Andel replied. He sat behind his desk, hands folded in that way he did when he was trying very hard not to punch something._

_“And precisely what has us worried.”_

_“Why is that?”_

_“He’s such a good double agent, how do you really know he’s working for you? How do we know he’s not a syndicate plant?”_

_Andel slammed a hand into the desk, stood up so fast he threw papers on the floor. “He’s the one man in this precinct that I know is loyal to me. Jack Rackham is honest to the last drop of blood in his body, mayor. I’d stake my life on it.”_

_“I just want to make sure --”_

_“With all due respect, sir, you pay me to run this department. I should hope that you trust me to select my own officers. Rackham will stay and that’s final.”_ _The mayor rose with a sniff and straightened his jacket. “Very well. But if he goes rogue, I wash my hands.”_

_“If he goes rogue, I’ll take care of him personally, sir. And then I’ll resign.”_

_The mayor nodded and left the room._

_Andel sat back down with a heavy sigh, head in hand._

_Just as he had that day, Jack felt himself step out of Andel’s coat closet. “Don’t worry about me, chief.” His voice was chipper and he brushed the lapels of his jacket off as if stepping out of the chief’s coat closet was an everyday occurrence._

_Andel looked up at him with a disapproving expression. “I knew you were in there, Rackham.”_

_Jack gave an exaggerated sigh. “Should’ve known I couldn’t pull the wool over your eyes.”_

_“This precinct's too small for that. I saw you walk in here before the meeting. And you didn’t come back out.”_

_Jack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Seems I’m getting rusty. You think the mayor noticed?”_

_Andel snorted. “I doubt it. He was too self-absorbed. By the way, what_ were _you doing in my closet?”_

_“Listening.” Jack grinned._

_Andel sighed._

_“You sound disappointed, chief.”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“But you didn’t tell the mayor I was here.”_

_“I didn’t feel the need to give him more reason to doubt you.”_

_“Psh. I don’t care what the mayor thinks of me.”_

_Andel grimaced. “Maybe that’s your problem.”_

_“Well, he ain’t my wife or my chief, so I don’t figure I need to put much stock in his opinion.”_

_Andel laughed. “You’ve certainly got your priorities straight.”_

_“Some days I like to think I do, Chief.” Jack grinned again._

And this time he saw himself as Andel must have seen him. That devil-may-care, come-and-get-me grin. The madness hanging on the edge of precision, obsession on the heels of skill. 

Jack had always been a live wire. 

They’d both known he’d go out gloriously one day. 

Jack just didn’t quite figure that today would be that day. Not this way. 

Not with this much pain and fear and cold, hard _anger_ in his chest. 

The present returned in snatches of heat-seared reality, flying at him like stars, colliding into him like meteors. 

Jack was fire. 

Not _on_ fire. 

Fire.

This. This was what the mayor had been talking about. What Andel worried might happen. What even Jack feared about himself. The inability to control the passion always burning under the surface. The thing that made him feel alive and yet tasted like death. 

Himself.

His soul. 

A fire, a star inside him, guiding and yet burning. And just like a star, when he went out, he’d do it in a blaze of fire. Without a counterbalance, Jack would simply spiral further and further into himself until he just ceased to exist. Sicily had been his counterbalance. His anchor. The steady stream to his raging inferno. 

And when she died….

Well, when she died, he lost himself. Lost his balance, lost his will, lost his sanity. He’d been pure passion again. Passion turned to rage. Jack figured it would consume him eventually. He’d just never figured on it being quite so literal. 

Every atom, every particle, every piece of his being was made of fire. Jack’s vision burst as the room around him lit up brighter than the sun. Heat engulfed everything, burning up the room, the occupants, the building. Until there was nothing left but white, hot rage. 

This. 

This was what he’d felt that day. The day the Blue Snakes killed Sicily and Ruby. The day they destroyed his life. This was what had consumed him. This is what nearly destroyed him. 

If not for Andel and a handful of other officers, Jack would have died without a second thought that day. Nothing was sacred. Men died at his hand and like he told Morpheus, he’d do it a thousand times over. That’s what frightened him. The fact that he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. On that day, he’d become what he’d always sworn to fight -- a monster. There had been nothing he wouldn’t do to get his girls back. He would trade his soul, his life, his humanity for just one more day with his girls. 

That hadn’t exactly been the way it worked out, of course. And when he’d finally come back to his senses, that kamikaze feeling never quite left. And it terrified him. It lurked in his mind like a demon, hungry and angry, just waiting for him to release it. And yet. Something held him back. Perhaps the desire to remain human. Perhaps a sense of duty. That had been the real reason he’d gone back to Andel. To keep the demon at bay. To keep himself in check. 

Jack laughed bitterly and the sound echoed around him. 

He supposed that’s exactly what he was doing here. Keeping the demon at bay. Trading his life for his freedom. His soul for the chance to see Sicily’s smile, to hear Ruby’s laugh. 

And the only thing standing in his way was...Morpheus. 

Jack opened his eyes to a scream. 

He realized that he could breathe again. Or maybe he just didn’t have to breathe anymore. 

Morpheus was in front of him, on his knees, with Jack’s hands around his neck now. His mouth was open in a scream, his wide eyes reflected fire. Morpheus jerked back, but he couldn’t separate himself from Jack. Jack watched, mesmerized as Morpheus began to melt in the sheer heat. 

Jack felt the temperature increase, but it no longer burned him, no longer felt like anything. It was just a part of him, as much as his hands or feet were a part of him. 

“Morpheus,” he rasped. His voice crackled like flame. 

Morpheus snarled. 

Jack grasped the sides of his face. 

Morpheus screamed again. 

“How do you like it now, bastard? How do you like being manipulated?” 

“You...can’t...win!” Morpheus shouted. He spasmed in Jack’s grasp. “This is…an illusion, nothing more!” 

“No, this is real, Morpheus. This is me. After all, we’re in _my_ head now!” 

Morpheus smiled despite the situation. “We’re in your _memory_ , boy. It’s an important distinction. You are still in my world.” 

Jack squeezed Morpheus harder. Morpheus writhed underneath him. 

“The pain seems real enough. Doesn't it?” Jack hissed. He felt a pressure in his chest, as if someone were squeezing him and his breath hitched. But he forced himself to steady, to keep his hands on Morpheus’ face. To lean closer. They were eye to eye now. 

“It’s no more...real than you are.” Morpheus sneered, but he shook between Jack’s hands. He shimmered and warped, as if the very fibers of his being were coming undone. 

“How much more of this can you take?” Jack sneered. At the same time, he felt the pressure in his own chest increase. He gasped and faltered for a moment. 

Morpheus pried one of his hands away and solidified a little. He leered, teeth white in the flame. “I think the question you should be asking, Jack, is how much more of this can _you_ take?”

Jack staggered, but he forced a cocky grin onto his features. “I can do this all day.” 

Morpheus shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth like a disapproving teacher with a wayward student. “You literally can’t. You can’t even do this all hour.” 

Jack growled. 

Morpheus’ smile grew. “You know what a supernova is, don’t you?” 

Jack felt his heartbeat in his ears now, loud, louder than anything else in the room. Like a countdown. Like a timer. The pressure in his chest increased. 

“They burn bright, but they die just the same,” Morpheus whispered. “And when you die, you’ll be mine.” 

And suddenly Jack knew. He knew without a doubt exactly what he had to do. Exactly how he’d fool Morpheus one last time. He laughed. Head back, throat bared. A long and mad laugh. 

The fire flared brighter. Morpheus tried to pry his remaining hand away from his face, but couldn’t. They were melded together now. 

Madness to madness. 

When he looked back down at Morpheus, he thought he saw a flicker of fear in the man’s face.

Jack couldn’t stop grinning. “Someday, Morpheus, someone is going to take you down. It won’t be me, I know that now. But you won’t win this one. Not this time.” 

Morpheus’ smile slipped for a second. “And how...do you figure that?” 

“Because the one thing you over-confident jerks never expect is a sacrificial fool.” 

Jack felt it coming a moment before it happened. 

“Because you never once considered the possibility that dying is what I _want_ , Morpheus. Go to hell, bastard.” 

The fire burst then, white and hot, and all-encompassing. And burned. Until nothing was left.

Not even Morpheus' scream.

* * *

The first thing he did was stuff his ears with cotton. His clumsy fingers shook as he scrabbled at the supplies in the medical cabinet, ripping open boxes, toppling jars that shattered on the floor. The cotton was long since out of use, moldy and grey and squished unpleasantly in his ears. He shoved it in until it hurt. Until he was certain he’d damaged his hearing. But that didn’t really matter anymore. 

Because now Moprheus couldn’t pull him back into his screwed-up, madcap world. Not without a fight.

Jack laughed. Or tried to. The sound was dry and scratchy, rasping at his throat like a file. He couldn’t fight like this. What if Morpheus found him here, ears stuffed with cotton, collapsed on the floor, alone, helpless?

All he’d have to do is rip the cotton out and drag Jack back in. 

Or just kill him here. 

And Jack had no doubt that Morpheus could do it, no matter what shape his real form was in. Because Jack was in no shape to fight back. He groaned and coughed. Something metallic clung to the back of his throat. Blood? He tried to swallow and only ended up gagging. He desperately needed a drink. 

He needed to find a way out. A way down. 

He scrabbled around in the floor until he found his flashlight again. The lens was cracked from where he’d dropped it, but the light still worked, throwing crazy shadows from the crack. 

A way out. A way down. 

Jack levered himself to his feet once more.

A way out. A way down. 

He staggered out into the hall. Debris blocked the nearest staircase, but surely there had to be others. There had to be multiple exits from this place. It would have been built to code, back in its day, allowing for egress in the case of emergency. There were multiple ways out. Multiple ways down. There had to be. 

A way out. A way down…

No. 

Jack stopped partway down the hall, hand against the wall for balance, breath hitching in his chest like he’d just run a very long distance. He’d barely walked thirty feet. 

No. Morpheus would expect him to go down. To try to get out. 

There was no way out. Not really. Jack knew that. 

But he had to stay out of the dream world if he wanted to die his own man. 

And to do that, he had to avoid Morpheus at all costs, in any form, until he could take his last breath of his own accord. 

Not down. 

Morpheus would expect him to go down. To try to leave. 

So Jack would go up. 

He turned around and retraced his steps with slightly more vigor in his step. 

A way out. A way up.

* * *

The room was as good as any. 

He was back on the fifth floor, or maybe the sixth. Or maybe...hell, he didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that he was going to die. 

And he was going to do it alone. On his terms, dammit. 

“My head, Morphy." His voice was cracked and faded, a sound more in his head than anything else. “Important distinction.” 

Jack staggered into the exam room. He flashed his flickering flashlight beam around the room. 

Empty. 

No skeletons. 

No Morpheus. 

Good. 

He glanced at the bare stone walls. At the floor, at the countertops. 

He was going to die alone. 

Alone. 

Jack put his hand into his pocket and felt the edges of his photograph. No, not alone.

Not alone and not a loser. After all, he did what he came to do. He found Lily. He escaped Morpheus. His only regret was that he wouldn't live to tell Andel. To give Lily's parents any peace. 

So there was one more thing he needed to do. One last message he needed to send. His radio was useless. But perhaps...perhaps Andel would one day retrace his footsteps out here. And if he did, he’d need to know. What happened. 

No, that was too much to tell. 

He’d need to know. 

To know…

Jack cast about the room for something sharp. He found what he was looking for on the counter. An old scalpel. The blade was rusted, but that didn’t much matter. 

He grabbed it up. 

He propped the flashlight on the exam table in the middle of the room so that it lit up one of the walls. Jack dragged himself over to the wall. Then, with a grimace, he slit his wrist. The blood was slow to well up. Slower than it should have been. Jack dragged a finger through it and painstakingly formed letters on the wall. 

He hated the way the letters dripped and straggled. He couldn’t keep his hands steady. He hated the fact that he’d never be able to say these words to the chief himself. When he was done, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. 

The letters were crooked and childish, sloppy, as if a drunk had scrawled them on the wall. But his message was there. There forever, probably. His knees shook. He wouldn’t be on his feet much longer. But there was one more thing he needed to add. 

Jack glanced at his watch, the tiny green light flickering across his face. 4:13 pm. September 3, 2073. Jack laughed at the irony of it all and stepped back up to the wall to add one last detail. Andel would want a date. So he could announce Jack's death proper this time, with honors. Honors. How frivolous that seemed here and now, as he stood dying in this old facility. 

Jack staggered back, his message complete. 

_Chief Andel,_

_I died free. Found Lily_ . _His name is Morpheus._

_Jack_

_EOW 9/3/2073_

He nodded once as his legs rejected his weight and sent him tumbling into the exam table. It tipped over, throwing him and the flashlight to the floor. The already weakened lens shattered, the glass scattering across the floor in tiny, glittering shards. 

Yet, miraculously, somehow, the bulb was intact, the light weak, but there, shining against the wall. Jack would have laughed had he the strength. As it was, he lay in a heap, dizzy and disoriented.

He was about to be outlived by a freaking flashlight. 

Jack took a few deep breaths. He wasn’t out yet. Not quite. 

He dragged himself to the wall under his message on shaking arms and propped himself up, back to the wall. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his photograph, careful to use his least bloody fingers. He still left a smudge on the top of the picture. 

He looked down at the picture in his lap. At his girls. At those dazzling, bright smiles. For the last time, before his eyes flickered closed. 

“Happy Birthday to me,” he murmured. “Sis, I’m coming home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there's anything left to say except thanks again to Shadowcrest Nightingale for letting me take her characters/world for a ride.  
> I cried, dammit.


End file.
